


Overwatch - Crossroads

by Lexias



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexias/pseuds/Lexias
Summary: The Omnic Crisis had thrown the world into chaos. The countries had found themselves powerless in facing this enemy of gear and steel, unpredictable and ruthless to any being of flesh and blood that crossed its path. Humanity had seen its future darken to the point of no return. When a new hope arose, an elite international task force charged with ending the war and restoring liberty to all nations: OVERWATCH.Soldiers, scientists, adventurers, oddities, guardians who secure global peace for a generation. Under its steadfast protection, the world recovered. The names of their members, today scorned or celebrated, still echo in the world' s memories: Jack Morrison, Gabriel Reyes, Ana Amari, Torbjörn Lindholm, Wilhelm Reinhardt.But as the world faces new threats, OVERWATCH is only a remnant of the past. Yet young heroes around the world are determined to continue the organization's legacy.  Meanwhile, in the shadows, forces conspire to change the status quo while former heroes rekindle their grudges.
Relationships: Athena & Winston (Overwatch), Brigitte Lindholm & Reinhardt Wilhelm, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe & Jesse McCree, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Lúcio Correia dos Santos & Hana "D.Va" Song, Moira O'Deorain & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 21
Kudos: 28





	1. The Soldier

**THE SOLDIER  
**

Darkness surrounded him as he tried to clear his mind. He had slowed his respiration so that it would be more sustained. He was out of breath when he shouldn't have been. He had been assured that he would be a different man, a man with more stamina, faster, more fearless, stronger. Yet his lungs seemed to be searching for oxygen that wasn't there. He took a long breath, cutting himself off from the world again, while he kept his eyes closed. It was a lesson he had learned from his platoon leader. _If we want to avoid going nuts, we have to create a refuge, a place where nothing can reach us. Whether it's for a minute, an hour, a day, you have to go to the shelter_. That was what he recommended to young soldiers going to the front for the first time. He said that it wasn't a foolproof method, but that it could save them from long-term psychological trauma. At the time, Jack thought it was complete bullshit. However, over the years and operations, he had integrated this ritual and followed it as religiously as possible. In any case, he was trying to find his shelter as best he could.

The roar of the transport shuttle was agitating him. A constant noise that grew louder and slower at regular intervals, with each increase in speed. The jolts and turbulence the aircraft was experiencing did not help the situation. Jack's hideaway was crumbling in his mind. He was still sitting, leaning against the aircraft's fuselage, feeling every jolt and acceleration of the machine. His fists on his knees clenched in irritation and he opened his eyes.

The gloom gave way to the aircraft's belly. It could hold about thirty soldiers in the rows of seats on either side, while the space between them could hold military equipment or vehicles, ready to be deployed on operations. All Jack could see in the dimly lit hold was his squad. Stretchers were strewn across the floor of the aircraft separating Jack from the other row of seats, where his comrades-in-arms were lying.

Closest to him, there were 36. They called him Tony, short for Anthony. He was a helpful and funny guy, always looking for the best joke. The squad leader thought he was way too chatty, especially since he knew he was often the favourite target of Tony's pranks. Jack remembered his way of making fun of everything, as if nothing was serious. He liked to say that he was downplaying the situation. Jack could need him at that moment.

Farther along were 54 and 88, Deidre and Benjamin. They were inseparable, he was the quiet, silent but good-natured guy, and she was the kind of girl you shouldn't mess with. She was a restless soldier who didn't hesitate to get into trouble whenever the situation demanded it, whether it was for the success of the mission or the survival of the squad. As for Ben, he was the squad's sniper, two precise and fearsome eyes that had proven themselves during the shooting sessions. But he was shy. He was two heads taller than everyone else, yet he didn't want anyone to notice him, just the opposite of Deidre, who was always playing with a strong head. That's why they got along so well. Yet Deidre's fearlessness hadn't saved her, and Jack wouldn't hear her raspy, familiar laugh anymore. Ben was luckier if you can call it luck. A rocket had exploded next to him and taken his right forearm with it. From then on, the doctors had done everything they could to keep him alive. Jack remembered his burned and mutilated body around which they had been busy inserting tubes, injecting him with all kinds of substances, and plugging in machines and things. Benjamin was still alive, but lying among the dead, Jack couldn't tell the difference.

Jack tried as hard as he could not dwell on today's battle, but the images and sounds inevitably came back to him: the smell of hot metal, the screaming and whistling bullets and the various sounds they made as they hit stone, wood, armor and flesh. In his head resounded the groans of rockets, the rattling of automatons and the sizzling of destroyed machines. The memory of the shrill cry of the blades of these metal weapons, splitting the air, squeezed his intestines. At this thought he remembered Nicholas, 91, he had been given a raw deal by the Omnics. All the machines had left behind was a dripping pile of meat.

Their squad leader, 32, had fought with honor until his last breath. Overwhelmed by a unit of E54 bastions, he had managed to put most of the cans out of action, until one of them was switched to tank configuration. The only way he had found to defeat it was to drive his impulse grenade belt into the omnic’s gun. The blast of the explosion had swept away the E54 bastion unit but 32 had been blown away with it.

Jack realized with some astonishment that he did not know the name of 32. Their squad leader had never told them. It had been three weeks since their squad had formed and they had already exchanged their real names with each other, the ones they would keep even after the program. Only their leader had abstained. _What's the point?_ thought Jack. He had died as a hero, and Jack wouldn't remember his name. He would still be 32.

In fact, the bodies lying on the stretchers in the hold, whether modestly concealed under a white shroud or plugged in and connected to treatment and care machines, all bore a number. Beyond the dim lighting, Jack could see numbers next to the stretchers, markers that were used to identify the bodies, but no names. 71 was between 42 and 39; 65 was breathing through a tube, while 12 and 50 were not breathing at all; 87 looked familiar, and on the next stretcher 98 had his face covered with bandages. They were just numbers.

Was this really the purpose of the program? Jack had never felt so powerless and yet they had been told they were the best, that they would be strong, that they would defeat the Omnics, that they would be the heroes of the nation. But Jack was alone, and his comrades-in-arms were gone. He thought of them. If he had died today and his squad had lived, who would they be crying for? Jack? Or 76?

The door to the cockpit of the aircraft opened and took him out of his mind. Jack heard heavy footsteps coming through the gate, which closed without delay. The faintly lit figure walked steadily across the hold and into the row of seats in front of him, from where he could not discern his traits. A few seconds passed before he noticed Jack's presence.

“I thought I was the only survivor, I was wrong...”

Jack stayed put and pretended he didn't hear.

“Have the Omnics taken your tongue or are you not very talkative by nature?” said the man with his deep voice.

“Not very talkative.” Jack replied dryly.

Other seconds passed, when Jack reached out his ear and observed his new traveling companion. He could hear his silhouette wiggling in his seat.

“Hey, do you have a light, by any chance?” he asked.

“No, I don't smoke.”

“Shit...”

The man seemed to be looking for something on him, then after a hesitation, he stood up and crossed the space between him and Jack. He approached a body covered with a white cloth and reached into his pockets to pull out a zippo lighter. With a quick gesture, he opened it and the flame lit up his face for a few moments. He had a goatee beard and dark eyes that never left Jack's side. He took a long breath of air from the cigarette in his mouth and closed the zippo, before settling down beside him.

“It's unfortunate, don't you think?”

Jack doesn't react immediately. The whirring of the device had resumed with greater intensity. He wasn't sure he heard it properly.

“Unfortunate?” he said halfway through his voice.

His companion's pupils seemed to awaken with a glow through the darkness. The cigarette he kept in his mouth released a volute of dark smoke.

“What you have before you are the best soldiers in the United States Army.” the man said, pointing to his comrades at their feet. “The elite, the top, the best of the best of the best. You can call them what you like. Super-soldiers....”

Jack remembered well what they were promised when they agreed to enter the program. The cream of the U.S. Army we called them. The elite that would lead the United States to victory over the omnics. At the time, it had enhanced the pride of all the recruits. Jack's father, if he was still alive, would have been proud of his son. He was going to be one of a bunch of heroes like the holovids of his childhood.

“A terrible statement.” the man continued, taking another breath. “From super-soldiers, they've turned into super corpses.”

“Does it make you feel better to spew your cynicism about fallen comrades? Whistled Jack who had lost his patience.”

“They're dead, and the only respect they'll have from now on is the respect we reserve for all the dead.” the man replied. “Super-soldier or not.”

“In my house, we treat the dead with respect, especially those who fought for their country.”

“The flag that will be placed on their coffins will be especially useful to dry the tears of their families and loved ones when we put them in the ground.”

“Shut your mouth.”

Jack's anger only grew as he gradually drifted away from his refuge. He'd known some ready-tongued shits. Most of them shit their pants when it came to use their fists, but Jack suspected that this guy was more like him. In fact, he didn't have the courage to fight anymore and the other one had clearly noticed that.

“What's your number?” Ask the man.

Jack remains silent.

“Your squad mates, they're all here, right?”

Jack just nodded and added nothing more.

“They'll never see a battlefield again in their lives.” replied the other. “In itself it's a relief to them, but you're going to keep fighting, what you saw today you're going to relive it until one day you're the one lying in the back of an aircraft.” 

The man smashed his cigarette against the hull and Jack saw him throw the remains away. He bent down, his elbows resting on his thighs, and looked pensively across the hold.

“You too are the only survivor of your group.” Jack assumed.

“That's right.” replied the other. “And I don't have any bodies to take back with me. What a bad squad leader I am. Omnics didn't give us a chance. Vaporizers fell on us, and in a few firefights, it was over. I shot those garbage cans down, but it didn't do me any good....”

A silence fell between the two men. Jack noticed that the man shared his bitterness. They were survivors. They had seen their brothers in arms fall, and this would follow them until they themselves fell in the field of honor.

“The members of your squad, did you know their names?” Jack asked.

“Of course.” replied the other, sullenly.

“My squad leader didn't bother with that.”

“If we're reduced to mere numbers, then we're no better than those tin cans.”

Maybe it's the best endgame for their world? A world of omnics, without human beings. We had created them and they had reached the point where their existence threatened ours. Omnics fought in a united front, they knew no fear, and were driven by a cold and ruthless indifference. As our forces diminished, their ranks multiplied. Perhaps that was humanity's fate: to be wiped off the face of the Earth by the hands of their own creatures.

“Do you think Omnics mourn their dead?” Jack asked his comrade-in-arms.

“Those machines have no conscience, and that's what makes them such a fearsome opponent. Until the big shots understand that, they can inject us with all the crap they want, but we won't win this war.

“And what are you proposing?”

“Omnics are everywhere. The Russians are fighting them in Siberia. Chinese and Japanese ships are scrambling to stop the omnics from attacking their ships in the China Sea. Half of Europe is under attack from these scrap heaps. And governments are turning a deaf ear to each other. The problem is global, but no one has the guts to ask the right question. We need to pool our resources, our data, our knowledge, our discoveries and our best people. If we lose to them, it's game over for everyone, we must oppose the omnics with a united front.”

“I'd like to see that happen.” Jack said with a slight smile. “I don't see our people working with the Russians.”

“The Germans have developed technologically advanced armors that allows them to face the Omnics. They fight in melee with weapons of war like the ancient knights and I have heard that thanks to them, German forces have regained hope in the struggle.”

“There are still men in those armors.” replied Jack pessimistically. “Armor or omnic when it's damaged, it repairs itself. A man or a woman is not a machine, you can't fix them that easily. Some wounds shatter soldiers to the point where they can no longer stand up to fight.”

Jack's eyes turned to Ben's mutilated body. After that, what would his life be like? Would he return to civilian life, or could he fight again? The army needed able-bodied men, and a whole man was better than half a super-soldier.

“In my home, they say that one should be wary of a broken soldier.” replied the other, “there is nothing more dangerous.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he has nothing left to lose.”

Jack asked himself the question. What could he endure? How far could he take the blows before he reached the point of no return? He had always wanted to be a soldier, even from the days in Indiana when he played war with his buddies on the big acres of the family farm.

“How about you? Asked the man. What kind of soldier are you? Are you going to let this war break you down or are you going to struggle and survive to see humanity win over these machines?”

During his training, he had always said that he would rather die on the battlefield like a real soldier than die in civilian clothes in a war he would not fight. He wouldn't give up even on the brink of death. Perhaps he had been broken for a long time.

“I haven't given up the fight.” Jack confessed in a resolute voice, “I intend to avenge our dead and make the damn machines pay for all the horrors they committed.”

Jack saw a grin on the man's face.

“It's good to know that I'm not the only one who still wants to keep fighting.” he said.

The man offered Jack his hand.

“I'm number 24, my name is Reyes. Gabriel Reyes.”

It didn't take Jack long to respond. His mother had taught him that you can't deny someone a handshake, even if you're ready to give them a good fuckin' punch in the face just a couple of minutes earlier.

“Jack Morrison and I'm number 76.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack.” Reyes said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“It's our burden as soldiers.” Jack replied simply, “until the war is over.”

“Hopefully, one day, it will end...”

“When all the heroes of the planet stand together...

Jack's tone was meant to be ironic, but the man known as Reyes didn't seem in the mood to laugh about it.

“I was serious when I brought it up.” Reyes argued sternly. “Now more than ever, the world needs heroes, Jack.”

“I have no doubt.” laughed Jack in disbelief. But to me, it would still be fucking dumb.”

* * *

**OVERWATCH**

**-CROSSROADS-**

_Many years later _

He slammed the door shut of the cottage and walked quickly across the room, cracking the wooden floor. He dropped what he was carrying heavily on a nearby table and could hear a stream of metallic noises crashing to the ground. He flipped a switch and a pale light illuminated the small living room which he used as a hideout. With an abrupt gesture, he opened the old cupboard in a corner of the room. Dark raincoats were fighting for the little storage space. He looked down at the travel bag crushed between the two walls of the closet and pulled it out. He put the bag on a chair and opened it, before turning his attention to what was on the cottage table. Dozens of chargers and pulse rockets, grenades of various kinds covered the dining table, and biotic emitters threatened to fall to the ground. He had no time to lose. He hurriedly placed all this arsenal in the bag.

He gathered up the grenades and ammunition that had fallen to the ground, and they suffered the same fate as the others: scattered at the bottom of the bag. He put his two hands around his head, more precisely around the mask that covered the lower part of his face. The mask covering his mouth, nose and eyes fell off and he quickly removed it and threw it on the table. Slowly he recovered his breath as drops of sweat dripped from his forehead and felt his diaphragm rise and fall heavily into his abdomen. The shelter was no longer safe, and his time was running out.

He opened a cupboard and took a can of canned red beans on the fly. With the help of a knife from a drawer, he pierced the can to create an opening and enlarged it so he could put it to his mouth. He swallowed the cold and tasteless beans from the can and passed their bland taste through a trickle of tap water from the kitchen sink. He had to resume breathing. His arms and legs felt so heavy and he was exhausted. He hadn't slept for two days, and tiredness was finally overtaking him. At the worst possible moment.

A few hours earlier, he had infiltrated a secure Helix Security International complex, located some ten miles from the cottage where he had taken shelter. He knew the place like the back of his hand, a former base that he had walked from one end of the compound to the other. It was years ago now, but he had an excellent memory: the logos and signs on the doors of the hangars, buildings and signs had changed, but for the rest, everything had remained as it was. He had had no problem getting back into the base and had tried to avoid any contact with Helix security guards. Some of them had gotten in his way, but they didn't last long. Although Helix's security officers had above-average equipment and arsenal, they could not do anything against his delicate hands. He was not supposed to kill. Discretion remained his best asset, and some of the agents would regain consciousness in odd locations and positions throughout the complex. It had taken him some time, but he had been resourceful with the equipment he had on hand: locker, dumpster, empty crate, third basement toilets. He had become a silent, ruthless shadow. A ghost.

He pulled out a vintage-looking white thermos and didn't even bother to take out a cup or a glass. He unscrewed the lid and sipped the cold, caffeinated liquid dripping from the corners of his mouth. The thermos flew to the kitchen sink, where he poured out the remaining black fluid as he passed into the small bathroom. He pulled a string activating a weak bulb and turned the tap wide open to spray his face. He thought this would keep him awake, perhaps, for another ten hours or so. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. He would have liked to think that it was the little light bulb in the bathroom that didn't give him his best reflection, but that would have been deluding himself. His hair, once blonde, had turned white, and many of it had fallen out, revealing an imposing, wrinkled forehead. His features were still chiselled and his cheeks hollowed out, but two scars adorned his face: a deep one from his forehead to his right cheek and a thinner one from his mouth to his chin. From a simple wince with his mouth, he saw the two scars move. The pain was long gone, but the stigmata were not gone. The soldier crossed the blue eyes of his reflection in the mirror. It was the only thing that hadn't changed. But the pale of his face and the marks of tiredness under his eyes reminded him that he would not last long at this rate. It was already well into the night and there was a bed in the next room. All he had to do was close his eyes for a few seconds to recover. But that was no longer an option. That was what he was missing. Time.

“Idiot.” he moaned, shaking his wet hair.

He turned off the light and went back to the main room of the cottage where his catch was waiting for him. What for, he found himself in a lost cabin in the Colorado mountains: the pulse rifle. A state-of-the-art automatic weapon that can fire bullets and rockets at a very high rate, yet not very heavy and handy, which he had stolen from Helix Security International's Grand Mesa security complex. It was a prototype that had been developed by the former owner of that complex and the soldier knew that this weapon would be useful in his job.

So he managed to get past all the security of the complex and infiltrate deep into the base levels to reach the vaults where the prototypes and schematics of weapons, vehicles, and all kinds of devices that would have irreparably brought the end of the world as we knew it. But the soldier had come for a single weapon. And everything seemed to be in his favor, but he had overestimated his hacking abilities. He'd misadjusted the device that would allow him to bypass security barriers and prevent alarms from going off. He was a man in the field. For him, hacking and everything to do with electronics was a different world, and in the past, there was always a guy who did that aspect of the job for him. 

The moment he grabbed the pulse rifle, the roaring sirens of Grand Mesa went off and the complex was on the alert. Fortunately for the soldier, where he was a sucker for everything computer-related, he was an expert in close combat. Although discretion had fallen by the wayside, he hadn't denied his second objective: no fatalities. The soldier had broken or fractured arms, legs, elbows, kneecaps, some cervical vertebrae and a couple of phalanges, but nothing that would threaten the lives of Helix's security guards. He had managed to get off the base with the pulse rifle, but he also knew that Helix's agents would come after him. They were going to track him down and find him and he hoped that by the time they got here he would be already gone. 

The rain had soaked his clothes and he wished he had taken one of the windbreakers from the cabin with him. The soldier retrieved the white and blue jacket that was curled up in a ball on a chair and put it on. He zipped it up and massaged his numb shoulders. On the back of his jacket was a red and yellow number: 76.

A white light blazed inside the cabin and the soldier, caught unawares, had the reflex to fall to the ground, fearing a burst of bullets. A halo of bright light shone through the windows of the cottage. Among the raindrops that continued to fall heavily on the wooden roof, he thought he could discern quick footsteps outside. They had found him.

“No ... No ... No ... No ....”

Denial would not save him. He dragged himself to the table and dropped the duffel bag to the ground and put the shoulder strap around his neck. When a metallic voice thundered outside:

“There's no use running away, you're surrounded! We have locked all the exits to the house! Surrender! We know you have the prototype!”

He slipped on the old parquet floor and went to the living room switch while avoiding the rays of light that pierced the windows of the cottage. As he turned off the small light bulb in the living room, he walked along the wall to the nearest window to take a look outside.

Between the trees, two jeeps, stuck together, lit up his hideout with their headlights. The soldier could make out silhouettes and shadows that moved around the vehicles. Helix had played his cards right with more than fifteen armed men deployed for the occasion. Through a loudspeaker, the voice continued:

“Give us the weapon and surrender! No harm will come to you! It is useless to have recourse to violence!”

“Count on it.” he groaned.

The soldier turned his attention to the pulse rifle. Still avoiding the light, he drew the weapon towards him, clutching the rifle butt. He took the opportunity to retrieve the missing part of his mask as he returned to his position near the window. He knew that Helix's forces had already taken place at the chalet's entrances. He could no longer hope to escape without a fight. Luckily, it wasn't the first time he'd had to improvise.

“Last warning before we use force! Come out with your hands up! Give us back the prototype!”

“Come and get it.” said the soldier as he reloaded the weapon.

Few seconds passed and the rain continued to fall, pouring a shower of drops between the needles of the fir trees. Helix's agents were on the alert, silent, waiting for the signal to attack. Two blasts disturbed the calm and a window in the cottage shattered. Rockets roared outwards and hit the jeeps, which jolted on impact. The explosions of the engines surprised the attackers. The strength of the blasts sent agents to the ground as the most reactive of them moved away. The well-placed rockets had served their purpose. The headlights of the vehicles had been destroyed. The cabin was once again in darkness. He had just started the hostilities.

“Intervention!” toned his voice over the loudspeaker.

The front door slammed open and Helix's agents entered the cabin, weapon in hand. Caution was not a concern for them. They were tracking a fugitive, an individual who had stolen a prototype weapon from a secret base. Their objective was to bring the weapon back to the site and kill whoever decided to take it. Two men entered, then a third, a fourth and finally a fifth. It was at this precise moment, as the squad was searching for their target in the main room, that the soldier closed the door of the chalet behind them, locking them in with him.

The soldier charged the nearest agent and with a vigorous blow of his elbow put him on the table. Another officer wanted to open fire, but he screamed in pain as he felt the bones in his arm break, dropping his weapon in the process. After disarming his opponent, the soldier tossed him against another member of his squad. Before the latter could even stand up and pull the trigger of his weapon, his jaw met the stock of the famous prototype they had come to retrieve. Bullets fired through the wooden walls of the cabin. The soldier did not worry about hearing the roar of this deadly music. He knew all those songs and he led the dance.

Two well-placed punches knocked out the fourth member of the squad, and Helix's fifth agent was soon gone too. The soldier managed to knock him down with a powerful knee blow to the chest. He fell on his kneecaps, but the soldier did not leave him any time out. He grabbed his wrist and grabbed him to make him drop his weapon. Then, leaning on his legs, he lifted him on his shoulders and threw him through the window. The soldier had a moment's respite as he watched the bruised body of his opponent gesticulating in pain outside the cottage. These guys had had enough, and he had no interest in killing them. Unlike others.

A storm of fire pounded the soldier and he threw himself to the ground. The agents outside were strafing the cabin, ignoring the presence of their own men in the shelter. The soldier crawled to the travel bag he had stashed in a corner. He was long overdue here. He had to leave the cabin and lose his pursuers. He heard a window break at the other end of the cottage and knew that a new team was coming to get him. And this one wouldn't make the same mistakes as the first one.

In the hallway leading to the bathroom, he saw silhouettes standing in the cabled doorways and heard the rattling of the triggers, followed by the screeching sound of bullets. He rushed to the old armchair in the living room and took cover behind it. The shots sifted and pierced the chair from all sides and the soldier curled up in the hope that this would protect him from the salvoes. The gunfire fell silent and the soldier considered firing back.

With a slight glance, he examined the corridor where the attackers came from. A spherical object rolled not far from him. It emitted a slight buzzing sound. As the humming accelerated, the soldier listened only to his intuition. He came out of his hideout, grabbed the travel bag and jumped out of the nearest window.

The soldier felt the blast of the grenade in his back before hitting the wet ground and the soaked grass. However, his fall did not stop there; he rolled down the slope, hitting the roots and branches of trees. After a few rolls, he tried to come to his senses. He had escaped the grenade in-extremis, he had to leave as soon as possible before the Helix's agents noticed that he had survived the explosion.

Above his head, he could see the flames licking the walls of the cottage that had been his hideout for a few days. The soldier felt terribly exhausted, his fall had affected him more than he thought. Quickly, he searched for the bag and pulse rifle he had dropped when he slipped. He found the travel bag lodged at the foot of a pine trunk, between two large roots, and began to search for the precious rifle.

“Don't move!”

The soldier felt the muscles in his neck contract. Over his shoulder he saw a Helix's agent pointing a gun at him. In his other hand, he was holding the pulse rifle.

“I said freeze!” the officer said, as the soldier turned to confront his enemy.

Helix's man was overwhelmed. The gun in his hand was shaking. Despite the darkness of the night and the faint glow of the cottage fire, he could see that Helix's man was frightened. Even his voice betrayed him. The soldier tried for it all. Raising his hands, he walked slowly towards Helix's agent, who was still holding him at gunpoint.

“Don't move!" he cried.

His order disappeared down his throat. The soldier kept up the pace and did not speed up his run. The officer's gun kept waving until the soldier reached his level. He could not take his eyes off the soldier's scarlet visor, which seemed to reflect the flames that were sweeping across the cabin. The soldier lowered the rookie's weapon, tetanized, and simply offered him his knuckles as a reward for his composure.

Helix's officer fell backwards into a dull rumble and the soldier retrieved the pulse rifle among the grass.

“Amateur.”

He took one last peek at the cabin he'd taken refuge in. In the distance, he could see the agitation of Helix's agents who were coming after him. The soldier took a deep breath and ran through the forest, dashing between the pine trunks. He had to outrun them, or he couldn't get back on the road. 

* * *

A few hours later, he was on the edge of a conifer forest, along an asphalt road that ran between the high mountains of Colorado. The soldier had managed to outrun his pursuers. Now that they had found his hideout, he was certain that Helix's agents would comb the entire area around the cabin. The logical next step would be for them to expand their search to the surrounding miles until they found their fugitive. However, the soldier was certain that there was a place where they would not go looking for him. So, he had taken the gamble of returning to the Grand Mesa complex in Helix to better cover his tracks. Under the cover of darkness at night and a steady stream of rain, he had moved closer to the military compound to get around it, avoiding the patrols and guards who had been on the alert since his incursion, and had headed south.

His gamble paid off. And after a long race through the conifers, where he had not met any of Helix's agents, he had stumbled on a winding road that divided the forest in two. The soldier felt it was time to slow down his wild ride. His intuition told him that he had put enough distance between himself and Helix's men. He was exhausted, and he wondered how he could still stand. He took some time to take a windbreaker out of his travel bag and stowed the pulse rifle and the part of his mask that served as a visor. 

The soldier put on the dark raincoat, adjusted the hood and went on his way. He had retrieved his weapon and now he was able to act. For starters, he needed information and he had an opportunity, at least if what he had heard was true.

An hour passed before the soldier arrived at a road sign that indicated the next destinations beyond: more than two hundred miles separated him from Santa Fe, Albuquerque would not be far behind and he would still have to cross half of New Mexico to reach El Paso. Then he would have to pass the border. A simple, basic plan, hoping he wouldn't get caught. He needed a rest, but the Helix folks wouldn't give him any respite. At the very least, he had to get out of Colorado and hope for a break.

The soldier saw a car drive by on the road next to him and thought of asking for a driver. It was risky, a little crazy even. A fugitive hitchhiking is the kind of bullshit he heard as a kid and sent a lot of fools to jail. However, although his reason intimidated him not to, as he heard a vehicle coming in his back, he turned around and raised his thumb in the direction of Santa-Fe. The car's side thrusters hummed and it sped south. The soldier ignored this fiasco and proceeded on his way in pouring rain.

Several minutes later, when no other vehicle had been on the road, the soldier perceived the snoring of a heavy truck. Over his shoulder, he saw only the shards of headlights blocking his view. What if Helix had found him? The thought crossed his mind for a second, and he prepared to hurtle off into the forest. Finally, he could see that it was a normal road truck with a row of propellers that lifted the vehicle and its cargo. He waved to him as the truck drove past while honking its horn. The soldier believed it would fail again until the vehicle stopped further down the lane. The soldier ran towards it. He approached the vehicle's driver's cab and climbed to the height of the passenger window.

“Hi there!”

The driver was, maybe, what, twenty years old at the most: almost a kid for the soldier. Dressed in wide blue pants and an old vintage T-shirt, the truck driver gauged the soldier with small eyes, a green and blue Nano Cola cap on his glabrous face.

“Hi.” the soldier simply replied. “Can you give me a lift?”

“Where're you going?”

“El Paso.”

“Sorry, but I don't go there. I'm going to Albuquerque. I can give you a ride there if that's okay.”

“I'll fit right in.

“Well, get in.”

The soldier took the passenger's seat and laid his bag at his feet where it wouldn't be out of his sight. He quickly took off his raincoat, rolled it into a ball and put it on the bag. The truck soon resumed its way and the driver took a short sip of the Nano Cola that was on his glass holder.

“My name's Neil.” the driver said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Pleased to meet you Neil, I'm Jack.”

His tone was meant to be a little cheerful to convey a certain illusion, but he was really happy about this accidental hitch-hiking.

“It's not usual to find people like that in the middle of nature.” Neil said. “I take this road every week and it's the first time I've ever met a hitchhiker. And in the middle of the night on top of that.”

Now he had to find a story that would stick, otherwise his new friend Neil might get suspicious and turn him in to the cops at the first gas station. 

“Believe me, it's a pretty good story, lied the soldier. I took a carpool to Salt Lake City but the guy who picked me up, he was pretty damn weird. His car was a wreck, and at first sight, it didn't make me feel any better. Then, as we were driving around and I didn't want to chitchat, I was trying to sleep and I heard him babbling incomprehensible things. I don't know if it was German or Polish but it scared the shit out of me and I couldn't get a wink of sleep all night. He stops at a gas station near Cedaredge and advises me to go pee while he fills up. I take my bag with me just in case because I didn't trust him and by the time I get out of the shitter the dude and his crate were gone.”

Neil breathed a sigh of disdain.

“You got lucky. The roads are getting more and more dangerous and you come across some wacky guys, especially at night.”

The soldier didn't prove him wrong about that.

“I was very happy to meet you on my way.” the soldier said, repeating his charm act. “Thanks again.” 

“You're welcome.” Neil replied. “You can be at peace with me. I'm not a weirdo.”

 _He looks like a Mr. Everyman_ , thought the soldier. A simple little guy, nice and easy, who did his job without making any waves, and when he got home, he ate a frugal meal, surfed the web, watched the news on his holovideo and went to bed at a decent hour. This life seemed far off for the soldier. It's inaccessible now.

“And just to be curious.” Neil asked, “what're you going to do in El Paso, Jack?”

“I'm visiting an old aunt.” once again lied the soldier. “She's sick and I'm going to give her some company.”

Neil nodded without saying another word, and the soldier crossed his arms to get into the passenger seat, where he gradually felt himself falling into a deep sleep. Nevertheless, a rumble brought him out of his torpor. An aircraft flew overhead, headlights on, and the soldier kept his eyes open, ready to get out of the vehicle if a threat arose.

“Calm down.” laughed the driver. “There's a military base nearby, so it's normal to see some movement.”

“I've had enough excitement for one day.” joked the soldier.

He caught a few indiscreet glances from the driver and dodged his gaze by focusing his attention on the rows of pines that followed one another outside.

“That's quite a scar you've got there, Jack.” Neil remarked sympathetically. “I may be nosy, but how did you get it?”

The soldier couldn't hide the marks on his face, and given the extent of the damage, he couldn't make up anything about their origins. If he could make it look right, he could tell him about a singular fight with a grizzly bear or a puma. The card of the car accident crossed his mind and suddenly Vincent's face appeared to him. He repressed this image deep inside himself and came up with a half-truth:

“This?” he said, pointing to the scars on his face. “An old war injury. I fought the Omnics years ago. And one of them gave me these small souvenirs.”

“I hope you made him repay.” Neil answered.

“Course I did.”

No, the debt had not yet been settled. The soldier hadn't forgotten how he got those scars. He was now living for this: to make those who had wronged him, and his kind pay.

“My grandfather died when the Omnics attacked Minneapolis.” Neil confessed. “My aunt enlisted soon afterwards to repel the enemy striking at the border. She was killed in action when Winnipeg was retaken from the machines. Where did you serve?”

“All around.” Jack replied. I recall Vancouver and Seattle. “I was deployed to Vermont near the end of the war. The Omnics had ravaged the state back and forth.”

“My father told me that the north of the country was like no-man's-land. I've seen the holovideos of that time, and I still can't really imagine what it looked like in reality.”

“That was a long time ago. The world has changed a lot since then.”

“Yeah, but the country's never really gotten over it. Off the main roads, there are groups of bandits who attack imprudent travellers, and I'm not talking about the old omnic units who wake up in the wilderness and decide to make a slaughter as soon as they come across a person. States let private groups take care of security and order, but they don't give a shit about our safety, as long as they get back the large money from the contracts with the State.”

The soldier saw Neil drinking another shot of Nano Cola.

“How about you, Neil? How are you holding up?”

“I got this.”

He pulled a Peacekeeper six-shot revolver out of the door and put it on the steering wheel.

“I've never got a chance to use it before and I hope it stays like that.” Neil said as he put it back in the door.

The soldier hadn't even flinched when his driver took the Peacekeeper out. He hadn't felt any hostility from Neil, but it alerted him to the existence of such a weapon in his possession. If things got out of hand, Neil could be an obstacle. Not an insurmountable one though, he pondered.

“Weren't you afraid of running into someone with bad intentions when you gave me a ride?” the soldier wondered in a relaxed tone.

The trucker slowly moved his head from left to right.

“No. Soaked, with your bag, on this road usually deserted. I thought mostly that you were a poor fella who needed help.”

The soldier, amused by the answer, pouffed and a moment of silence settled in the cabin. The raindrops fell in heavy jerks on the front of the truck under a constant buzzing of the engine and humming of the thrusters. The soldier gradually lowered his guard, overtaken by exhaustion. The passenger seat in Neil's truck was not the most comfortable place to sleep, but for the soldier, after weeks on the road or on a hideout, it would be more than enough. He was trying hard to resist the sleep. He had to be ready for all eventualities.

“By the way, Jack...”

He was slightly startled and turned to Neil who hadn't taken his eyes off the road.

“I've been thinking about it... I may have an idea of how to get you to El Paso.” Neil continued. “In Albuquerque, I've some trucker buddies who make the regular trip to El Paso. I could get in touch with them and one of them could pick you up.”

“That... that'd be really great.”

“I mean, don't think about it.” he said, taking another sip of cola. “You must be tired. Get some rest. No stopover till Albuquerque, we should be able to make it quickly.”

“Thanks again, Neil. You're a lifesaver.”

 _It was the only truth Neil was ever going to get_ , the soldier reasoned.

Little by little, he fell asleep. The pulse rifle was in his hands, and he had been able to get hold of other pieces of experimental equipment. His first objective was accomplished and despite some inconvenience, he had made it out alive. No one had been killed in this case and he considered it a miracle, given the turn of events. He was now on his way to Mexico, safe from Helix and the American authorities. What he didn't know was that, thanks to this misadventure, his profile would soon be known by all the American police forces as well as by all the federal and national agencies. He would be portrayed as a criminal, an outlaw, a terrorist.

He decided not to think about it and succumbed entirely to slumber. For the time being, it didn't matter. Helix, Overwatch, Gabriel, Ana, Vincent, it didn't matter anymore. He had to sleep. He had to get his strength back. Old grudges were hard to bear, and although his wars were all over, he had other battles to fight. Old soldiers never die... And they don't fade away...


	2. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after the dismantling of Overwatch, Winston returns to an old base of the organization in search of something from his past.

**THE STRANGER  
**

_A few years earlier_

It is interesting to note that there is only one wild population of monkeys on the European continent. Called Barbary macaque, this bright, ochre-coloured monkey species, although it has no tail, has the morphological capacity to undergo significant drops in temperature, inherent to its mountainous environment. This is due to the negligible length of its tail, the toes of each of its legs and the thickening of its fur when the cold seasons occur, which distinguishes it from almost all its fellow primates. The Barbary Macaque is not only the second largest free-ranging primate in Europe after Homo sapiens, but its population is concentrated in a specific spot on the European continent: the Rock of Gibraltar.

The presence of these Gibraltar macaques has been dated for many years, well before the annexation of the Rock by the British, and well before the occupation of the Iberian Peninsula by the Moors. Although small, this population of primates has been perpetuated over the centuries and has become an integrated part of the Rock’s history. When the British decided to set up a military base in Gibraltar, they took great care of these animals, feeding them, protecting them and carefully monitoring their reproduction, thus helping to preserve this exemplary species. A superstition said that as long as the Barbary Macaques remained on the Rock of Gibraltar, this territory would remain under British authority. This belief had forced Winston Churchill, in the middle of the Second World War, to send British agents to reconstitute the macaque population on the Rock, which had been decimated due to a disease, by sending other monkeys of the same species from North Africa.

Despite their particularity and the interest that the locals had paid to them for centuries, this species of macaques remained wild and the Rock was their territory. It was not advised to get too close to them and to interact with them. Some soldiers at the military base were not entirely comfortable with dozens of apes looking down on them from the barracks and quarters. Even Winston had to admit that he did not feel safe in front of these monkeys.

He made his way to the barbed-wire fence where signs were hung, forbidding entry to the site under penalty of being prosecuted in accordance with the terms of the Petras Act. Winston, as a man of science, was not well versed in all aspects of international laws and conventions. Yet this simple act, this simple text had destroyed everything that had been his life for the past few years. So, no matter how much he was forbidden to enter the base, he did not have anything else to lose. He readjusted his thin glasses on his nose and, with his big paws, twisted the fence to create a pathway for himself.

Overwatch's base in Gibraltar had not changed much since the last time he had visited it. The barracks and the infrastructure, dug out of the Rock face, had retained their orange and grey tones, unless it was the colourful glow of the falling sun towards the horizon. Antennas and satellite dishes still stood proudly on structures leaning against the now empty water tanks or containers. At one glance, Winston saw in the distance the great launching pad that rose almost as high as the Rock. The Gibraltar complex was not a base like any other among all the ones owned by Overwatch. It was first and foremost a study base for space research and for launching probes and orbiting satellites to store the vast amount of data that lay beyond the Earth's atmosphere. For this reason, that base was given a small nickname within the organization: the Observatory.

It was the sort of place Winston adored. He remembered the back and forth of astrophysicists and engineers in white coats and work suits. He remembered the lively discussions among scientists who had greatly exceeded coffee and the squealing of the markers on the whiteboards where lines and lines of formulas were stretched out and were often at the heart of all the discussions. He recalled the modules and the devices developed and assembled in the hangars, in a state of permanent agitation and emulation. In his memories, it was a lively place, far away from what it looked like today.

The large aisles were deserted while the buildings and hangars remained enclosed. The whole place had been abandoned. Silence prevailed, disturbed only by the crashing of the waves on the Rock's cliffs and the hoarse, jerky laughter of the seabirds. The Petras Act had banned any activities of Overwatch or its former agents and this unfortunately included the field of research. Construction machinery and transporters were still on site, covered with black tarpaulins, and storage boxes that were now empty. The base had been vacated and only what was expendable remained.

Winston leaned on his hind legs and with his agility he climbed up the front of a building to reach the roof. At the top, a cohort of macaques, surprised by his sudden arrival, burst out in high-pitched, panicked cries. Winston ignored them and hoisted himself up on an antenna to view the surroundings. He searched for a method of entering the base, but the heavy hangar doors were locked and heavy iron curtains blocked the window openings. With a single leap, he jumped from one building to another and looked around him for opportunities, but he found nothing conclusive.

Not discouraged, he dropped to the ground and walked to the doors of a hangar built into the rock of the cliff. The doors were very large and certainly very heavy, but Winston took a deep breath and tried to insert his fingers into the gap between the two doors. When he felt a slight grip on his fingertips, he gathered his strength and pulled to each side. Despite his efforts, the doors remained closed. As he stepped back, he saw a recess in the rock that led to a small door almost hidden from the unwary eye. A smile appeared on Winston's face. This place was inaccessible by most people, but not by him.

Winston climbed up to an adjacent structure, stooped down, and jumped into the recess to face the sliding door, which seemed more than adequate for him. Looking for a grip on the side of the opening, he tightened his muscles and grabbed the door and pulled it to the left. For a few seconds it resisted, but Winston's strength overcame it. The lock broke and he was able to enter.

Inside, everything was dark. Winston rummaged through the bag on his back looking for a flashlight to face the darkness. As he took the object out, a few pictures slipped out of his bag, lying on the ground, which Winston quickly retrieved and collected. He hurriedly retrieved them and gathered them together, but he still observed them one by one. In the first one, a blonde woman was wearing a large dark witch's hat next to a small man in Viking costume with a dense golden beard. Winston giggled with amusement at this snapshot, which had even been annotated with a "Happy Halloween Winston", a heart and an A. The next photo showed many people gathered for a celebration as indicated by the banner behind them. In this picture, there was complicity, pride, satisfaction, but also envy and bitterness. Winston moved on to the next shot where he was in the company of a young woman with brown hair wearing an orange visor and the sign of victory by her hand. Winston couldn't help smiling at this picture. The last picture always had the same effect on Winston, it overwhelmed him with contradictory feelings: joy and sadness, relief and anger, nostalgia and regret. It was years ago now, when he was a young gorilla in the company of a man in a lab coat. At that time, Winston was already wearing his thin black glasses, which the same man in the photo had left him. The gorilla buried his dark thoughts deep in his mind, put the photos in his bag and activated the flashlight and then entered the complex.

The deserted aspect of the base took a completely different turn inside. There was something gloomy about the dark corridors, and this feeling only grew stronger as Winston went deeper into the compound. He came to a walkway that led to a large room which he examined closely with a flashlight. All the furniture was still there: computers, desks, whiteboards, chairs, cabinets, workbenches and consoles. It was as if everyone on the base had vanished into thin air in an instant. Winston had no trouble recognizing the place but seeing it from this grim angle gave him shivers down his spine. He couldn't hear a sound, and no matter how much he listened, only silence answered him. He went over the barrier and fell back to the lower floor where he pursued his search.

Winston was frightened when a rattling sound echoed through the complex. He raised the flashlight to where the sound was coming from and saw heavy chains swinging from the ceiling. Relieved, he saw a corridor on his left and walked down a staircase that went further down into the base. He reached a gigantic shed and looked around with his flashlight to discover that this was the place where all the space modules were stored. His research would be easier if he could get electricity back onto the base. Of course, the authorities had cut all the power connections to the base, but Winston knew that every Overwatch facility had an emergency generator, so there was always a backup for any situation that might arise. If he could find it, and if it was still operational, it would be a great time saver.

With that in mind, he escalated a series of stairs that brought him to a platform overlooking the shed. He swept his flashlight from left to right, moving from a prototype satellite to a half-mounted rescue module. As he reached the other side of the hangar, something caught his attention. He directed his light to a console on a wall that could be the emergency power control. When he was within reach, Winston was happy to see that it was the good console. He tugged on the box and flipped the switch on the side. The console gradually lit up and illuminated Winston's face with a green glow. The Overwatch logo appeared, as well as the command to activate the emergency generator in the complex. Winston hesitated for a moment. Would this alert anyone of his presence at the site? The primate scientist was aware that the prison would not be convenient for him. A small voice in his head reminded him, however, that he had already broken into a site protected by an international convention and that at this point he could not really make matters worse by activating the base's emergency generator. By this simple deduction, he tapped the control panel and the neon lights in the hangar were activated one by one.

Winston packed away his flashlight and was surprised to find that the shed looked much bigger than it was in the light. He climbed back up to the canopy of metal bars that held the ceiling in place and looked carefully through the many modules and prototypes stored on the floor. Then he recognized it, well-hidden between a container and a parabola, in the far end of the complex. He stumbled upon a prototype equipped with solar panels, which he crushed on landing and headed towards his objective.

Winston moved slowly and pushed the container out of his way. In front of him was a single-cabin rescue space module that he knew only too well: his own. It was the one he had used to leave the lunar station, where he had been born, and reach Earth. Ultimately, the Observatory members had kept it intact. At that moment, Winston felt incredibly grateful to them for their outdated but deeply meaningful gesture. Good memories came back to him and made him smile as he put his palm on the door of the module. 

“I feel like I haven't seen you in ages” he said in his deep voice.

It was no coincidence that his space capsule ended up in this precise Overwatch base. More than a decade ago, it was within this complex that his capsule had crashed. It was then equipped with parachutes to cushion its fall, but during its long descent, two of them had been damaged and its landing was consequently much less pleasant than expected. The module had hit the cliffs of the Rock of Gibraltar, ricocheted against a barracks and ended up in the sea. Fortunately, Winston had previously fitted the capsule with floats in case of immersion, and when he opened the capsule, he remembered the stunned and astonished faces of the Observatory's rescue crews when they saw a gorilla with glasses coming out of the module. Calling them in with his little bit of Spanish learned on the Moon had not been the right approach for Winston, but English allowed them to communicate more easily.

Of course, the first contact had not been without a hitch. As his capsule was taken out of the sea, he was taken by force to an isolated room for interrogation. Winston had expected this and had cooperated with the base authorities as much as he could. He recalled that he had answered questions from the security chief of the base, a very down-to-earth man who had asked him only basic questions. Winston had felt that the man seemed slightly overwhelmed by the circumstances. Afterwards, he was left for hours, locked in the room with no information, until another superior took over the interrogation: a woman who had nothing in common with the security chief. At first sight, her stature and poise had caught Winston by surprise; although she was much smaller than his previous interrogator, she was a natural authority, typical of great military officers. She also had a sharp eye that constantly gauged her interlocutor, making the gorilla uncomfortable. Winston had then noticed a symbol that he had recognized from ancient texts about Egyptian mythology that he had read on the Horizon Lunar Colony, a long time ago. When he had spoken to his interlocutor about her Udjat eye, the protective symbol of the god Horus, which she had had tattooed under her left eye, she was much more intrigued by the specimen she was to submit to the question. The interrogation had been preceded by exchanges on Egyptian mythology which reassured Winston so much that he seemed to impress this woman with his knowledge. He had spent years consulting the archives of the Horizon Colony and had assimilated a great deal of information about the Earth. Everything he knew about this world he had learned from holo-documents and holo-vids. He had tried to amaze him by speaking Arabic, but the woman's laughter had made him realize that he would have to improve his pronunciation.

From the moment Winston made him laugh, she had introduced herself as Captain Ana Amari, a senior official in the organization that held the base where he had accidentally landed. The gorilla had not hidden anything from her about what had occurred on the Horizon Colony: the riot orchestrated by the escape of the experimental specimens, his improvised flight to Earth and the death of Doctor Winston. At that time, he eluded this last point to Captain Amari, but much later Lucheng Interstellar, the Chinese aerospace exploration company that managed the Horizon Colony, provided a statement to the press indicating the disappearance of the station's research team. Winston had faked the surprise but there was no need. The image of frozen silhouettes in the vacuum of space still haunted him.

Following the interrogation, Captain Amari placed him under surveillance. He was free to go wherever he wanted within the Observatory while waiting for Overwatch to determine what should become of him. Winston had spent several weeks wandering around the base, becoming a real attraction and distraction to the research team. The scientific team could see that he was not just a mere laboratory subject. He had corrected a Polish scientist on one of his calculations in front of the entire scientific corps of the base. This provoked the ire of the first one and the hilarity of the whole team. Winston had discussed, debated and argued at length with people of various ages, cultures and ideas. When he visited the engineers working on the space modules, he shared with them his thoughts on the ergonomics of the module's thrusters and the best alloys for sealing the shuttles, as well as all sorts of things he had learned while he was on the Moon. He shared his information candidly without realizing that he was delivering Lucheng Interstellar's discoveries and trade secrets to a potential competitor. For this reason, the engineering team welcomed him as a full member of their team. Those few weeks at the Observatory were a real delight for Winston. The loss of his lunar home and the discovery of the Earth had been a real ordeal for the primate, but the exultation and good fellowship at the Gibraltar base had allowed him to move forward.

Then Captain Amari returned to Gibraltar. Winston had spent some pleasant weeks with the team and it almost made him forget that his fate was still in the balance. Ana Amari had told him that, as a research specimen from the Horizon Colony, Lucheng Interstellar had demanded that Overwatch return its experiment to them. Dr. Harold Winston had always treated the young gorilla as an individual, caring about his health, his education and his well-being, like a father raising his son. At no time had Winston felt like a laboratory guinea pig. The Doctor had respected him as a living being, as a peer, not as one experiment among many. Been belittled as a mere object by people he didn't know and had never seen had made him very resentful. Moreover, the way Captain Amari had envisaged this possibility, she did not seem to agree with Lucheng's request.

Thus the captain offered him another opportunity: join Overwatch and work in the scientific teams at the organisation's headquarters in Zurich, Switzerland. Looking back on the weeks spent at the Observatory, Winston didn't hesitate for a second. Things went extremely fast for the gorilla afterwards, and he had to reluctantly leave the Observatory to move to the headquarters. Upon his arrival, he had to undergo a long examination with Dr. Angela Ziegler, head of the organization's medical research team. Dr. Ziegler reminded him of Dr. Winston; she was endowed with a gentleness and empathy that emanated from his person. He had already heard about the organization's role during the Omnics Crisis from the Horizon Colony databases, but through Dr. Ziegler, he learned that the organization had recently turned its attention to scientific research and exploration to push the boundaries of that era and bring humanity to prosperity. This noble goal resonated with Winston as a legacy of the ideals passed on by his spiritual father.

The years had passed. Friendships and enmities had been forged, but Winston had treasured those years among the members of Overwatch, traveling and exploring new parts of the world, interacting with the brightest minds on the planet, working in teams with comrades in arms who were first and foremost comrades. It was a young gorilla's dream come true. But it had all come to a tragic conclusion. The organization had gradually disintegrated from within and the destruction of the Zurich headquarters had heralded the end of Overwatch. The investigation by a UN committee into their activities drove the final nail into Overwatch's coffin, which had been dissolved by the same institution that had previously created it to counter the advance of the Omnics.

Winston withdrew his hand from the rescue module. He had nowhere else to go from there. The former members of Overwatch had scattered to the four corners of the world, some had fallen off the radar and others had died. His close acquaintances had returned to civilian life, but it was just impossible for him to return to his former life. He had been approached by many companies seeking to recruit him as a member of their research teams. The Minister of Genetics of Oasis had invite him to join one of the most advanced cities in the world where he could continue his research. However, Winston was suspicious and declined their offer. He was worried that he would go from being a researcher to a guinea pig. When an executive from Lucheng Interstellar contacted him to hire him within the company, he knew that he, too, would have to disappear.

So he had returned to Gibraltar, hoping to find the last thing that reminded him of home: the rescue module that had brought him out of the Horizon Colony. And now that he'd found that beloved thing, he felt strangely empty. So much had happened since he had gotten out of that pod. Did everything he'd been through come down to that capsule? Winston sighed deeply and put his glasses back on his nose. He didn't want to think about it and chased those memories out of his mind. First, he had to get the module out of the shed.

Using maintenance chains, Winston wrapped the module in a metal knot. But it was heavier than Winston thought, and he had to catch his breath a few times as he pulled the escape pod out of the metal and electronics graveyard. He then set about dragging it to the exit, making his way through the wreckage and prototype carcasses. His fists gripped the chains attached to the pod, which he pulled along the wide corridor and bumped against the steps of the staircase. It was challenging, but Winston managed to carry him to the workroom, which was now lit by dim ceiling lights.

The gorilla recovered his breath and his attention was drawn to the control centre overlooking the room behind a large bay window. Now that power had returned to the base, he could surely access the control of the security doors. Leaving the module behind, he climbed up the walkway leading to the control room and walked into what appeared to be a data center. Leaning against a wall, columns of computer servers came alive with green and red LEDs, resurrected by electricity. Winston lingered on the heavy metal flap that blocked the view of the rest of the base, and then he approached the central control unit. The touch screen keyboard was glowing blue, while in front of it was a palette of interconnected screens of varying proportions. With a simple touch on the pad, Winston reactivated the unit and the central screen woke up before his eyes.

Several lines appeared succinctly that Winston managed to grasp as the mainframe was recovering its functions. Reactivation of the systems. He emitted an impatient grunt and rubbed his nose with his paw. Recovering data. Several windows scrolled across the screen. Calibrating location. Winston saw a security section that he rushed to look at, without waiting for full reactivation of the control unit's functions. While browsing the system, he accessed the security tab control and attempted to enter the confidential codes common to the senior members of Overwatch. The first attempt was unsuccessful, as was the second, but the third was successful and Winston was glad to see the iron curtain rise to unveil the sun that was gradually disappearing to the West, set between two barracks on the base.

Winston approached the large bay window to take a look outside. The day was fading, and night would soon come. The gorilla remembered that when the base was active, the nights were more than short. The construction and assembly shops at the Observatory never rested, just as the scientific teams spent many of their nights sitting around caffeinated drinks calculating and recalculating the pathways and trajectories of celestial objects. Some spent their nights busy at their control computers monitoring the evolution and movements of satellites they had launched beyond our orbit. Even when base personnel had their evenings off, they would still be out on the cliffs of Gibraltar watching the stars. Looking back on these fond memories, Winston looked up at the sky, whose warm hues gradually faded to the blue of the night, revealing the lights of the stars. Among the faint glow, the gorilla saw the Selenian star, which reflected the shades of twilight with its pale appearance.

Did the Colony now look as grim as this one? Were there any survivors still up there? The rioters had taken over, for a time, but resources were not unlimited on the Moon and they must have joined the Earth by now. Either way, those who hadn't killed each other and the lucky ones. The Lunar Colony was no more, and it was mainly inaccessible. His escape pod wouldn't get him back up there. Still, he had all the materials he needed to build a shuttle to the Colony. Gibraltar's base was equipped for suborbital launches and he had enough assets and tools to tinker an aircraft. And for what?" a voice whispered in his head. What would you do once you got to the Colony? Rebuild it with your own hands, with moon rocks and your clever mind? No. Winston had to resign himself. He was stuck on Earth.

Winston could not hope to have a normal life like human beings because he was not one of them. He could talk and think like a man, but that was all that linked him to Homo sapiens. All his differences with the others brought him back to his monkey state. His closest friends and colleagues at Overwatch had gone beyond the matter of his condition, but he knew that within the organization, some saw him more as a grotesque curiosity, a fairground attraction, that of a chimp in a lab coat. Beyond the window overlooking the base, he saw a band of macaques watching him with great distrust. They never took their eyes off him, and the stiffness of their movements betrayed the sense of threat the gorilla represented to them. Winston stepped away from the bay window so that he would not have to endure their grim faces. His friends were far away. They had returned to their former lives, which was no longer possible for him. He had no home to return to, no family to find comfort. He was alone.

“Good morning.”

Winston turned sharply to the tune of that voice. His gaze wandered across the control room as his heartbeat raced. He expected to see men-at-arms, alerted by the return of the electrical power. The gorilla moved slowly towards the bay window that faced the inside of the control room. But there was nobody below.

“It is very discourteous not to respond to greetings.” said the voice.

Winston had distinguished where the voice was coming from and looked over his shoulder at the mainframe, whose screen was animated by itself. Intrigued, the gorilla approached the device.

“Hello.” he hesitated.

“Good evening.”

"T.. To whom am I speaking?" asked Winston.

“I am Athena, administrator and monitor of the aerospace research base in Gibraltar affiliated with the Overwatch organization. How can I be of assistance to you?”

“You're an AI?” said the gorilla while rubbing his chin.

“That is correct. And you are?”

Winston remained silent. No one was supposed to know he'd been trespassing on this base, so he wasn't going to get too talkative with that artificial intelligence.

“I consulted my database and analysed it with your physiological data.” began the female but metallic voice. “All indications indicate that you are Winston, Overwatch field agent and member of the science team from Zurich headquarters.”

On the screen of the control unit, he saw his photo appear along with other pictures taken in operational theatres or official settings. There was no longer any need to rely on secrecy.

“Did you really have to analyse me?” Grumbled the gorilla.

“It's the procedure.” she said indifferently. “Are you in fact the agent Winston? If not, I'd be obliged to report it to base command and contact the local authorities.”

“There's no need to do that.” he replied to defuse the situation. “I am Winston. And you certainly seem to be a pretty advanced AI.”

“I was created and programmed by Dr. Moreno. I administer and manage the complete functionalities of the Gibraltar base.”

Strongly interested by this new interlocutor, Winston progressively relaxed.

“What do you mean by the complete functionalities?”

“Dr. Niklas Moreno programmed me to keep a constant watch on the satellites launched by the Gibraltar base teams. I'm also collecting all the data from the Overwatch organization's suborbital devices. Dr. Moreno has added further features to my abilities. Professor Cedomir Motylesçù and Director Arata Kiritoru also participated in the addition of these new features.”

Without warning, Winston heard the squeaking of the iron curtains and the hum of the armoured hangar doors opening. Outside, he saw the indicators and lights of the antennas and dishes come on. Below the working room, he saw the tactile tables being activated along with holographic projectors depicting the globe and the trajectories of the satellites that orbited around the planet. The base came to life again, not without displeasing Winston.

“Very impressive.” the gorilla admitted. “You have control of the entire base.”

“Right, yes. Can you please explain to me why I was put on standby? Where are the other members of the base?”

Winston didn't realize immediately whether the artificial intelligence could see his puzzled look on his face in front of the control console.”

“Well....” started the gorilla, scratching his temple. “It's quite long to explain.”

“Overwatch has been disbanded.”

On the console screen had just appeared dozens of articles and press covers, excerpts from news channel reports revealing a building devoured by flames, William Petras in front of a tribune, archive footage with various members of the organization, and a document marked with the acronym of the International Commission of Justice. Winston remained mute in front of this patchwork of tabs that scrolled across the screen, bitterly reminding him of the past few months.

“The Observatory has been shut down until further notice as all Overwatch bases, in application of the Petras Act.” mechanically stated the AI. “All Overwatch activities are now prohibited. I have just updated my database. So I've been deactivated as a result of the shutdown of the base?”

Winston was surprised by the last line of the AI. Something in his voice evoked a certain melancholy, a grief that had hit him hard.

“I'm sorry.” Winston said out of spite. “I don't know why they left you here. Surely an artificial intelligence as advanced as you could have been very useful elsewhere.”

“My place is here." replied the AI. “I'm affiliated with the Overwatch organization and that's how Dr. Moreno programmed me. I still have access to the orbital satellites and the data they gathered. I will proceed with my task because this certainly is what my creators would have intended. Even if, in truth, it makes me irremediably turn to illegality.” 

Winston chuckled at the resolve of the entity he was conversing with. It remained faithful above all to the mission that Overwatch had entrusted to it, or at least to its initial programming, to the brains that had created it.

“What about you, Agent Winston?” asked for the AI. “What are you doing here? You were trespassing into the base.” 

The gorilla took a deep breath and sat heavily on the ground, torn by guilt and weariness.

“Yes, I trespassed into the base. I came to retrieve some of my belongings.”

“The escape pod you came to Earth in from the Horizon Lunar Colony. I consulted your personnel file a few seconds ago.”

“For an AI, you're far too curious.” Winston groaned as his eyebrows frowned.

“I actually have a name, too, Agent Winston. My name is Athena, and I kindly ask you to remember it.”

The scientist, bewildered by Athena's composure, swallowed his pride. His creators had named him after the Greek goddess of wisdom and military strategy. She had not failed to earn her name.

“Forgive me, Athena. I'll keep that in mind.”

“I am sure you will.” Athena replied in a playful tone.

Winston laughed heartily at the remark of her interlocutor. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time.

“So, you've come to get what's been yours?” Athena inquired. “And for what purpose?”

Winston lost his gaze in the stars as his lips pinched in an indecisive pout.

“Actually, I have no idea.”

“No idea?”

“I don't even know why I'm here. Why did I come to get that capsule? I think I wanted it back because it would remind me of my past, of who I was before I joined Overwatch. But aside from the nostalgia it reminds me of, I find no other consolation in it.”

A moment passed. Athena remained silent while Winston stood in her thoughts. He was cogitating. Acknowledging aloud that he had no reason to be on that base had made him understand the silliness of his situation. Out of a simple nostalgic impulse, he had violated several terms of the Petras Act and was facing punishment. All this for a simple padded escape pod. What did he hope to do with it? Throw it into the ocean and embark on a trip to the Canary Islands? He felt awfully stupid.

“From the tones and the intonations of your voice, Agent Winston, I can detect anxiety and distress.” announced Athena. You seem lost.”

“I am." he admitted reluctantly.

Athena became silent once again. Winston wondered if she was as embarrassed as he was by his moods. Could an AI be embarrassed? Could she understand his feeling of perdition? Winston let go of his powerful arms, which fell softly to his knees and breathed weariness.

“I have no place else to go.” the scientist pursued. “Overwatch has always been a part of my life since I came to Earth, but now that it's all over, I have absolutely no nowhere to go back to.”

He let a few seconds pass, hoping for an answer from his misfortune lady companion, but only the seabird cries reached him.

“I think I understand your feelings, Agent Winston.” Athena added, breaking the silence.

Winston turned to the mainframe console where the crystalline voice of the artificial intelligence emanated. The gorilla realized how long it had been since he had any "human" contact with anyone. The dissolution of Overwatch had forced him to isolate himself, and this meeting with Athena had just broken his reserve. But she wasn't human, so what could she possibly understand about what he was feeling? Was she really just an A.I.? A machine driven by circuits and programs? Was she more than that?

“May I make you a proposition, Agent Winston?”

“What would that be?” asked the intrigued gorilla as he looked up at the control screens.

“Now that you have reactivated me, I will be able to keep track of the space modules and satellites still in service, as Dr. Moreno would have intended. However, I’m afraid I don't have enough functionalities to take care of the maintenance of the base and my components if there is a malfunction or if I need to correct some alterations in my program. I was designed to interact in a very advanced way with the Observatory and its infrastructures, but given my constitution, I am very limited when confronted with problems that go beyond my artificial intelligence condition. And there is a high probability that I will not be able to carry out my duties if an unpredictable event occurs, no matter how long it lasts.”

“I don't understand.” Winston replied with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm asking if you'd like to stay on the Gibraltar complex to help me in my task. According to your record, you are more than qualified. Your research topics and your work in astrophysics and aerospace engineering suggest that you are a perfect match.”

“But the base is a restricted area.” Winston replied, standing on his legs. “I'm not supposed to be here and you're not even meant to be activated.”

“As I explained earlier,” Athena resumed. “I control all the functionalities of this base. I won't let any information leak out. I can encrypt transmissions between the Observatory and other communication devices. No device will be able to detect my reactivation nor your presence on the complex. The auxiliary generator by itself is sufficient to provide us with electricity, and we still have access to drinking water. It will only be a matter of providing you with food and water, but the base has a greenhouse as well as everything that concerns your well-being: sleep, comfort, hygiene, ... toilet paper ....”

Winston grumbled as he rubbed his chin and then moved away from the control to observe the workroom below. Athena's proposal had taken him by surprise. His cartesian mind weighed the pros and cons.

“By staying here, you could continue your researches.” Athena added. “There are resources and equipment within the complex that could easily suit you. In addition, I have in my database all the reports, documents and prototype plans created by the research teams of the Overwatch organization. I am entirely willing to let you consult them without restriction.”

The gorilla examined his escape pod and realized that with the metal chains hanging from the ceiling; he could make an excellent ape's nest. His reflection in the control room window gave him his most beautiful smile.

“I agree to stay here.” replied Winston, whose heart felt much lighter. “I don't know how long it will last, but right now it's the best choice for me.”

“I'm pleased to hear that.”

“You know, I've always really liked this place. If Overwatch hadn't put me in Zurich, I think I would have loved working with the science and engineering teams here at the observatory. And I'm beginning to think that it wasn't chance that brought me here today. I hope that I will live up to your expectations, Athena, and prove myself worthy of your trust.”

“I have complete trust in you.” Athena answered in her crystalline voice.

“Of course, I will have to make some small adjustments to this place but nothing too important or extravagant.” announced the gorilla by putting the glasses back on his nose.

“Do as you please, Agent Winston.”

“Oh! No need to call me agent, Athena.” catch the gorilla with a knowing look. “Winston suits me just fine.”

“All right, Winston.”

The gorilla could barely contain his euphoria. Fortune was finally smiling upon him after so many mishaps. The doubts he had expressed about Athena's proposal had vanished, giving way to all the opportunities that were open to him by staying here. His imagination sparkled with all the possibilities of study and discovery within his reach, as well as the experiments and research he could carry out. His mind was full of ideas, theories and plans. The same perspectives that he had had to put aside when Overwatch was disbanded in the past few months. Winston was suddenly alive again.

When the primate fell asleep on the padded cousins of his escape pod, he had a peaceful night, a fact that had become rare for him lately.

* * *

The next day, at dawn, he wasted no time and started work. Through one of the hangar doors opened by Athena, the gorilla sped outside where he crossed the path of a construction machine, hidden under a large black tarpaulin. As he shot at the tarpaulin, he discovered that his intuition had proved to be right. He amputated the machine with two large tires, using his superhuman strength, and drove them to the workroom where Athena was waiting intrigued:

“What will these pneumatic tyres be used for?”

“Well, you see, an individual with a strong constitution like mine doesn't really appreciate seats like this.”

With one hand he presented the standard office chair that was placed in front of the control table.

“That's why I went to get something much more suitable for me.” Winston said, lifting a section of the tire.

He swivelled on himself and the tire sent the desk chair into a corner of the room. Winston smashed the tire back in front of the control table and quickly curled into the gap where the vehicle's rim had been. With a happy smile on his throne, he posed victoriously in the hope that Athena could "see" him.

“You seem much more slumped than seated.” Athena replied disapprovingly. “Besides, I don't see how you could work on the control table in this position.”

Winston's grin widened and he lifted his hind legs and wiggled his fingers in a disorderly sweep. The gorilla's paws began to type on the control pad while Winston put his hands at the back of his head with a perfectly relaxed expression.

“I see.” Athena said. “It's quite unusual.”

“Ha ha, I've got this little trick for me.” Winston giggled proudly as he readjusted his glasses on his nose.

“Do you still want me to show you how the base interface works?” the AI inquired.

“Yes, yes.” replied the primate as he sat on the edge of the tire in a more studious manner.

Athena explained to him all the subtleties of its programming and the mechanisms that tied it to the Observatory's infrastructures. As Athena revealed her secrets and weaknesses, Winston had the strange impression that he was entering the privacy of the AI. Yet she did not discard any information and provided all the necessary details so that her guest could fully understand its many features. The scientist added his own questions to which she gave all the answers. Winston had to take notes to make sure he didn't forget anything. She also pointed out some handling emergencies that he had to answer immediately. Winston went to hunt a couple of seagulls that had nested on a base station relay antenna. The primate removed the nest, which was stuck on top of the antenna and escaped the strong pecking of the occupants, and placed it back on the edge of a cliff in the hope that the seagulls would return as soon as it was out of their sight. He also had to clean ventilation outlets that were beginning to be blocked with foam and check the power supply to several electrical boxes of the base.

Afterwards, the AI took him on a tour of the site and although Winston remembered some of the locations, he discovered new buildings and facilities that had been added to the station after his last visit. Nevertheless, he found the library and archive room of the complex and remembered the number of hours he spent consulting flight plans and advanced astrophysics books. He was not going to run out of reading. She showed him the greenhouse where scientists grew many fruits and vegetables for their own consumption. With artificial light, the plants had survived the base's abandonment. Athena told her that the greenhouse could operate autonomously for about ten months, relying on an independent electricity generator and drinking water supplies. Winston was more than delighted to discover that the Observatory members had planted many banana trees there. Driven by a nagging hunger, he picked up some bananas with one hand and tasted the fruit greedily while Athena continued the visit. The base's pantry contained only non-perishable food or food that only risked losing its flavour over time. In front of the rows of cans and the many opportunities for menus, Winston felt that he was still safe from hunger. At the end of one row, he noticed jars of peanut butter and promised to come back for them later.

Once this visit was over, Winston set about setting up the workroom that would become his new home. He hung the second tire from a hook in the ceiling with the help of a strong cable he had seen during his tour and hoisted it high enough to make a swing. Athena pointed out to him that this was similar to what can be seen in the enclosures of large primates in most zoos. Winston didn't pick him up. It may have been inherited from his gorilla genes, but when he was a young boy, he had a swing similar at the Lunar Colony. When he saw the tire hanging down at the end of his rope, he tested the resistance of the attachment by climbing on it. The place was getting more comfortable. The most challenging task would be to lift up his escape pod to create a cozy nest where he could sleep. Winston found some powered fasteners that he could tie to the metal chains in the workroom and use them to raise his escape pod into the air. After a few hours of work, his improvised monkey's nest overlooked the room. He opened the door of the capsule and attached a rope that would allow him to reach the module from the ground. For the next few days, he planned to retrieve as much material from the base as he could to bring it back to his new lair. He had to find a workbench to work on and he didn't want to use the digital tables at the risk of damaging them and he had to find shelves to store what he could find in the base. The ones in the pantry would probably do the trick. He had so much to think and do that he didn't realize that the day was coming to an end.

Winston returned to the control room where he could see that the sun was finishing its course behind the horizon. He breathed with exhaustion and sat down in his makeshift seat.

“So, are you satisfied with your setup?” asked Athena.

“Rather.” said the gorilla, looking at his swing and capsule over his shoulder. “Thanks again for letting me stay here.”

“You're quite welcome. Thank you for reactivating me.”

The gorilla pulled out a jar of peanut butter that he had stored in the desk furniture adjacent to the control table. With his back legs, he unscrewed the red lid and placed it on the control table. With his other paws, he took a banana fruit that he had hung on the handle of a drawer, carefully removed the peel from the fruit and dipped it into the jar. He bit into the peanut butter-soaked banana and lengthily stretched it out.

“After effort comes comfort.”

“It's a very particular diet.” Athena remarked slightly intrigued.

“I love peanut butter.”

“Perhaps you would like to have access to the holo-transmission network during your dinner?”

Winston was unable to answer that the command screens displayed several tabs showing programs from different holo-transmission channels. In one corner of the screen, he saw an old report on the Omnics Crisis, while in the opposite corner, two hosts were announcing a new anti-omnic incident in London. On one of the side screens, a woman and an omniac were dancing passionately to salsa music, while on the opposite screen was a cooking programme in which people who were deeply concerned about cooking roast beef were debating. Winston seemed to recognize scenes from the film " _Some Like It Bot_ ", a broadcast of a UN General Assembly session, an anime with giant robots fighting, a TV debate in which he could not discern the guests, and a documentary that appeared to be about the city of Numbani.

“You have access to all these programs?" Winston wondered.

“I have access to multiple satellites, Winston. And I can easily obtain holo-transmissions from the four corners of the planet by tracing the reception of the other satellites.”

“Aren't you afraid of getting caught?" worried the gorilla.

“I'm undetectable, my designers made sure of that. They won't even know I'm collecting such data. We can sleep peacefully. Well, at least you can.”

Winston had no choice but to believe her. Athena's great confidence in her abilities didn't completely appease him, but so far, no one had come to stop them, despite the Observatory's reactivation. 

“So, what do you want to watch?” Athena reiterated.

“I've always liked “ _Some Like It Bot_ ”.” Winston replied, swallowing a bit of banana.

The main screen of the control panel now displayed the smooth, chrome-plated face of Thespion 4.0 playing saxophone in front of A.I. Schylys with a chiselled face and sunken eyes scratching the strings of his double bass. In this movie, the two omnics pretended to be musicians in order to escape anti-robots attacks. Faced with these two impostors, disguised as women, dresses and wigs included, the complicit crowd was hilarious. Winston chuckled slightly as the two policemen came out of the curtain to chase the escaped omnics. It was Lena who had made him discover this movie. Back in the days of the Zurich headquarters, they enjoyed spending time together watching old movies. He thought about what she could be doing right now and where she could be.

“Have you seen this movie, Athena?”

“Dr. Moreno isn't a big fan of movies.”

“You mean you've never seen a movie?”

“I'm afraid not.” said Athena bluntly.

“You have to have seen some movies, especially classics like _"Some Like It Bot”_.” Winston insisted, licking a finger full of peanut butter. “Since we're going to live together, this is going to be an opportunity for you to do your culture.”

“I'm not quite convinced, but I'm still curious.”

Maybe it was watching a movie with an artificial intelligence able to assimilate an astronomical amount of data per second, but Winston felt appeased. He was enjoying his favourite food in front of a movie that had been one of his first discoveries in a place that reminded him of everything he loved. Winston feared that he would suddenly realize that it was only a dream and that he was still without a home to return to. The gorilla shifted his attention to the film, preferring to focus on the present rather than dwell on the past. He didn't know if this bliss would last, but in view of the events he had gone through in the last few months, he wanted to enjoy it. Winston stuck his hand in the peanut butter jar and licked his fingers with delight.

“You know it's very unhealthy to abuse this kind of food.” Athena remarked childishly.

“But I never abuse it.” Winston replied in defence.

“Your heartbeat indicates to me that you're lying.”

“I already told you not to analyse me.”

From the outside, half a dozen monkeys observed, fascinated, through the bay window, this newcomer. The latter would surely change their habits around the Rock, but over the years, while keeping their distance from him, they would get used to his presence. Europe had just welcomed a third species of primate in freedom on its territory and would ignore it for many years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> I come back with a second chapter focused on one of the main characters of the Overwatch lore. It was an obvious choice since he's central to the canon. This chapter finally comes quite quickly after the first chapter [A month, you could say it's pretty fast anyway? Compared to previous publications?] and I thought it would be much shorter than the previous one, but every time I judge the length of a chapter, I always end up exceeding the prediction. It's always more stuff and it's never a problem.
> 
> Thank you for reading this second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it and that my English is readable. Do not hesitate to tell me if you find any errors or misunderstandings in the text. I would like to thank Etsukazu again for his rereading and the people who commented on this story. It's not easy to get started on a fandom, especially when translating it from the French version, but your comments and remarks have boosted my motivation. Chapter 3 has just been released in French, I still have to translate it but it shouldn't be too long.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter, don't hesitate to comment and give your opinion. 
> 
> See you soon!


	3. Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A high-ranking member of the former Overwatch organization testifies before the United Nations inquiry commission tasked with clarifying the causes and responsibilities for the destruction of the Overwatch headquarters in Zurich.

_“Welcome to this special edition on Atlas News devoted to the hearing of a major witness by the United Nations commission of inquiry regarding the Overwatch organization's cases. I'm Sarah Ginsburg and for this special edition, I will be assisted by Jud Johnson. Welcome, Jud.”_

_“Thank you, Sarah. Months after the destruction of the headquarters of the Overwatch organization, the investigation initiated by the UN commission finally reaches a turning point with the hearing of the former head of medical research, Dr. Angela Ziegler.”_

_“Dr. Ziegler must appear in a few minutes before the investigation commission at the UN headquarters. On site, Blair Clarke is covering the situation for Atlas News.”_

_“Yes, Sarah. It's right here in the middle of New York City at the United Nations Headquarters that the investigatory commission will hear from Doctor Angela Ziegler on the activities of Overwatch. She was among the highest-ranking officers of the organization and after the destruction of their headquarters in Zurich, many of them disappeared or are presumed dead. Since the Petras Act came into force last month, most of the former Overwatch agents have been in the spotlight. And yet this is the first time that someone so high up in the Overwatch hierarchy has publicly testified about the actions of the military organization. However, it is impossible for journalists and broadcasters to set up their cameras in the courtroom. The United Nations has its own system for broadcasting the hearing, which will begin in a few moments.”_

_“Blair, we switch directly to the images of the hearing and meet afterwards for the debriefing.”_

* * *

**ANGELA**

The courtroom looked like an arena. For the past ten minutes or so, from the moment she had sat at her table, she had glanced around the room where this terribly obsolete spectacle was going to take place. It was a large room with varnished wooden walls, illuminated by a system of artificial lights with different coloured sconces which should make the courtroom much less ceremonial, but which evoked to her a patchwork of bad taste. To her left and to her right, rows of seats lined up around her, overhung by balconies that spread out in tiers. The view must have been perfect from up there, she felt terribly spied on from the four corners of the room, not to mention the dozens of people sitting in her back, in the front row for the show that was about to start. All the attention was focused on her. The audience was whispering and chatting in a low voice and her peeps irritated her to the core.

In front of her, a large table was waiting for the members of the commission to take their seats. Seven empty seats with the names of the occupants enthroned in frames that were clearly visible to the drone cameras scattered around the room. Flying spheres floated above their heads, pivoting on themselves, scanning from their targets every nook and cranny of the auditorium as they slowly moved around in a strange ballet, ready to capture everything that was about to happen in this room. Everything had been well planned, the audience had to get their money's worth.

The hearing would be translated into all languages. Behind the committee's seats, the wall of the room was pierced by numerous windows where translators and interpreters would work to transcribe the exchanges as best they could. In contrast to the anxiety-provoking atmosphere of the courtroom, the two floors dedicated to translation seemed to be in total turmoil: silhouettes moved from one floor to another, disappeared from one row of windows and reappeared on the other, people stood up while others took their places. She stayed a long time to observe their movements, which reminded her of the constant bustle of the corridors of a hospital. Angela saw herself again a few years earlier, as a young doctor, head of surgery at a hospital in her native Switzerland, before a flood of roar brought her back to the present.

Like a swarm, the camera drones had flown to the back of the room where a door had just opened. The members of the inquiry commission, followed by their assistants, entered the hearing room. As they reached the central tribune, Angela opened the top of the bottle of water that had been placed for her use and drank a swig before putting it back beside the pen and the pile of white paper carefully laid out on the table.

The commissioners settled in, then their assistants clustered around them to show them the binders and investigation files, some of them checking that the microphones were plugged in and functional. Four women and three men, all of whom represented their states in the United Nations General Assembly, had formed themselves as the commission that was to uncover the truth about the destruction of Overwatch's headquarters.

However, there was no guarantee that the truth would be obtained at the end of the process. The only certainty was that the conclusions of their investigation would-be set-in stone. And Angela knew that within the commission, some members were very zealous in discrediting Overwatch, including the head of the commission, the representative of the United States, William Petras.

The American representative was smiling complaisantly as he took his seat on the central seat of the commission. A man in his sixties with salt and pepper hair whose face seemed to be marked by the passage of time. However, his dark eyes were always bright and alert as he studied the assembly and his fellow commissioners.

Angela was finally able to put faces to the names that had been staring at them since she entered the courtroom. The Korean representative, Bong Yun-Gi, was whispering something in the ear of the Tunisian representative, Ezra Zourhlal. On the other side of the table, Rogelio Jimenez, a Mexican by nationality, was caressing his thick beard as he went through a file, while his neighbour, Italian Agostina Di Maria, was busy on her holomobile. William Petras was flanked by two women: a blonde with a pale complexion and serious, even icy features, and a slender black woman with short grey hair who was being served a glass of water by her assistant. The Norwegian representative and the Senegalese representative seemed to be the antipodes of each other. Helga Streng was austere where Muskeba Diarra seemed warm. Angela felt these impressions when the two representatives looked at her. Helga Streng, with her haughty expression, watched her up and down as she sorted out the investigation files while Muskeba Diarra stared at her, and had been staring at her ever since she had taken her seat with her hands clasped on her chin.

The attention she received from the two representatives made Angela uncomfortable, and she was not sure which one of them was going to give her the hardest time. She had difficulty discerning whether their attitudes concealed false pretenses, whether both women were playing a role unless there was no hypocrisy in their respective approaches. The cold, grey eyes of the Norwegian woman in her late thirties contrasted with the soothed, brown pupils of the Senegalese woman in her fifties, and Angela's stomach became tied.

Now that the inquiry commission was assembled, it was time for the master of ceremonies to open the ball. It was then that William Petras spoke. After adjusting his blue glasses on his nose, he caught Angela's eye and seemed to address the assembly behind her:

“Well, there's no point in delaying this hearing any longer.”

His grey eyes returned to Angela and a reassuring smile stretched across her face.

“First of all, thank you for coming, Dr. Ziegler. On behalf of this Commission of Inquiry, I thank you for your help, which I am sure will be crucial in helping us to lift the veil on these terrible events.”

Angela remained impassive. The camera drones gazed at her and gauged her from their dark targets. Each of her expressions would be scrutinized by journalists, editorial writers and columnists from every media outlet. Petras knew how to shape it, he was at ease in front of the cameras.

“Can you please stand up?" Petras asked.

Angela did so, without flinching, and readjusted the button on her jacket, while raising her right hand.

“Can you swear before this commission to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

A futile oath for an equally futile situation. It made no sense to her. The commission didn't care about her testimony. All Overwatch agents, at least those who had not hidden from the authorities, had been thoroughly interrogated and questioned since the headquarters blast. Angela had not escaped, and in any case she had nothing to hide.

However, the United Nations had not been able to find the leaders of the organization, who were missing or presumed dead. As a result, Angela was the ideal target. She was one of the only high-ranking members that they had managed to apprehend and, reluctantly, she had had to participate in this farce. The commission and the investigators had suggested that Torbjörn should testify in her place, but after a heated meeting with the engineer, they changed their minds. That was the only comfort Angela had at that moment.

“Well, can you please present yourself before the commission of inquiry?” Petras said.

“I am Dr. Angela Ziegler, a graduate of the Medical Faculty of the University of Zurich and former head of medical research at the Overwatch organization.”

“When did you join the organization? Petras continued, turning the pages of the files before his eyes.”

“A few years after my PhD. Six years to be precise, if I'm not mistaken." Angela replied simply. I had just taken up a position as head of surgery at a hospital on the outskirts of Zurich and had just stopped teaching at the university to focus exclusively on surgery and research. And that's when the organization contacted me.”

“How exactly did they contact you?" said Helga Streng, the Norwegian representative, in an ice-cold voice.

“Through its commander, Jack Morrison,” Angela simply replied, insisting on the name of the former leader of Overwatch. “He had taken a quick look at my work in nanotechnology and felt that I could contribute a lot to Overwatch's research and development department.”

“This wasn't the first time you'd met Morrison, was it?" Petras asked, raising his eyes from his documents.

Angela knew immediately where the American representative wanted to lead her.

“No. I had already met him a few times when...”

“In what context?” asked Helga Streng.

“I was about to get to it." Angela answered, who made no secret of her irritation. Overwatch's headquarters were located not far from Zurich, where I was studying, and I knew one of its members because he was an old family friend.”

“Are you talking about Torbjörn Lindholm?” asked Rogelio Jimenez in a cavernous voice.

“That's right. He was a friend of my parents. He was recovering from serious injuries and undergoing extensive rehabilitation following a prosthesis transplant and I came to the organization's headquarters several times to follow his progress and recovery.” 

Rogelio Jimenez turned over a page from his file and out of the corner of his eye Angela believed she saw a photograph. A picture she never thought she would see again in this particular situation, and yet it was an essential part of the investigation.

“Was this picture taken during one of your visits?”

As soon as William Petras had spoken his statement, a holographic image of the picture was projected just above the members of the commission, in front of the whole assembly and the drone cameras gathered around the image to obtain the best angle.

The picture remained as she remembered it. A group of people were posing, nothing extraordinary even if they were legends: Jack Morrison, with a smile on his face, was in the center, surrounded by Ana Amari and Wilhelm Reinhardt, the latter having crouched down slightly to get into the frame. The Egyptian sniper had her hands resting on the shoulders of her daughter, Fareeha, whose childish and candid manner seemed out of place among these assertive adults. In the shadow of the Amari, hidden under a hood, Gabriel Reyes looked serious, contrasting with the ambient joy of the cliché. Even Jesse McCree, his Blackwatch peer, seemed to blend much more easily into the euphoria of the photo. In the foreground, Torbjörn stared at the photographer with his arms crossed, revealing his newly acquired mechanical left arm prosthesis, alongside a smiling blonde woman doing the V for victory with her right hand.

The joy of the Angela of the past seemed far away for the Angela of the present. Yet it all came back to her mind in the middle of that hearing room. On that day, Torbjörn was carrying out the final series of physical and motor tests in order to be able to return to his activities within the organisation. Angela had insisted on being present, even though the engineer had told her not to, and she had had to struggle to get him to stop trying to dissuade her. But she wasn't the only one to attend, Morrison and Reinhardt, on leaving a mission briefing, had decided to come and encourage their comrade, soon joined by Ana and her daughter, who had the same idea. Reyes and McCree had also joined them as they both passed by the rehabilitation rooms to complete the assistance. Torbjörn had a real audience for his final exams.

The engineer had swear at every glance in the observation room, where he could see Reinhardt's exuberant face, motivating his brother-in-arms, and McCree's mocking grins. Morrison and Reyes had watched without flinching, as had the young Fareeha, while Ana and Angela had offered him a few shouts of encouragement. Torbjörn had done well in his tests and Morrison had offered to immortalize this to celebrate the end of the engineer's convalescence. The engineer had strongly refused, Angela remembered that the convalescence had made Torbjörn even more acarious and gruff. He wanted to put an end to all this rehabilitation circus and go back to work. Angela had to convince him - helped by a Reinhardt who seemed to calm the engineer's stubbornness - to make him appear on the picture.

And the result was now revealed for all to see. Angela contemplated her reflection of the past and envied it greatly. Her simpler days and moments were now distant. This photograph evoked another time, a time of heroes and victories. Today, Angela, melancholic, could not watch this photograph without thinking of failures, deaths, and fallen legends.

“That's right.” Angela replied.

“And what was your relationship with Morrison?”

The question came from Muskeba Diarra, who gauged her behind small glasses supported by a thin metal chain, while displaying an interested smile.

“My relationship with Morrison was primarily professional?” Angela added. “He had appreciated my research and offered me a job as a result. My closeness to engineer Lindholm may have led him to turn to me, but he never led me to believe that this was the case.”

“And unfortunately, he's not here to confirm that either.” Muskeba concludes calmly.

Angela nodded without adding anything. The Senegalese representative put her glasses back on her nose to look back at her files as William Petras and Helga Streng exchanged glances.

“Dr. Ziegler.” questioned Streng. “Jack Morrison put you in charge of medical research and as the commander, so he was the only person in charge of Overwatch?”

“That is correct, I was accountable only to him. However, I had a large degree of freedom within the organization in all matters related to my domain.”

Helga Streng marked a break, which allowed the swarm of camera drones to reposition themselves in the audience room. 

“And what were your apprehensions about Jack Morrison? As an individual and as a commander?”

Angela knew what the commission wanted to hear, and she had no reason to lie to him. She had already answered this question in an interrogation room surrounded by government officials. The commissioners certainly had the transcripts of these exchanges in their investigation files and were simply playing this farce to get some nice pictures to show the public.

Jack Morrison was dead, and Angela did not appreciate lying. Her father abhorred lying and had taught her, from a very young age, that there was nothing among the evils more heinous than lying. He often repeated to her: _“Truth always comes out in the end, so lying is a waste of time”_. Jack Morrison was dead and had left no family behind. Angela wasn't going to embellish reality and would only be truthful. What she was going to say wasn't going to hurt anyone but the dead.

“Jack Morrison was a trained military man. “Angela began. “In that way, he and I were quite different. He was zealous, straightforward and pragmatic: a soldier by nature. For my part, as a medical doctor, I have always opposed the use of force to resolve conflicts, hence my reluctance to join an organization created to respond to an armed threat, by armed force. Yet Morrison invited me to join them, arguing that the organization had changed and wanted to move towards scientific research and improved medical advances.”

“And so that's what drove you to join Overwatch?” asked the Italian representative, speaking for the first time.

Angela was startled to recall what Commander Morrison had told her in their interview years ago:

_“Dr. Ziegler, I must confess I did read your paper, but I didn't understand much... I'm a military man, and I'm not comfortable enough with all that scientific stuff... And yet everyone praises your work and I think you would have a place on Overwatch... I know you don't like the idea of having to work with the military, but just like you, now that the Omnic War is over, I'm thinking about the future and I hope that no one suffers the way we have suffered. Today, I need doctors in my ranks more than I need soldiers. You can't cure someone with bullets...”_

“Jack Morrison and I came from different backgrounds” Angela replied. “but we wanted, above all, to protect lives. The Omnic Crisis had left a deep impression on us: him as a soldier and me as a war orphan.... The means of Overwatch allowed me to make advances that were almost unimaginable in university hospitals or research laboratories. In this, I am very grateful for the opportunity that Jack Morrison and Overwatch have given me. However, as the years went by and I and my team continued our research, I found that the organization did not hesitate to share our advances and use our discoveries to expand its war arsenal. And it did so without my approval.”

“When did you find out that Overwatch was using these discoveries at your expense?” said the Korean representative.

“With the Venice incident and the revelations about Blackwatch…” Angela confessed.

She had a front row seat to witness the satisfied smile of William Petras. A wave of murmurs swept through the audience, and the camera drones were busy capturing the noises of the room.

“What you're trying to tell us, Dr. Ziegler.” Petras replied. “is that you were unaware of the existence of Blackwatch, despite your place in the organization's hierarchy?”

The question was not trivial, and Angela thought she discerned sarcasm in Petras' tone. The Venice incident had put Overwatch under fire. Overwatch's clandestine operations division had been compromised, revealed to everyone, even within its own parent organization. At the time, Angela had felt betrayed. She had joined Overwatch to preserve peace and protect the weak, and she had just discovered in shock that the organization had granted itself the right to intervene and act within sovereign states in violation of all international conventions.

She had had a hard time dealing with the hypocrisy of her situation. Over the years, she thought she had fought oppressors and despots, but in reality, she armed them, healed them, and provided them with the technology and scientific advances they needed to quench their thirst for power.

Angela had had words with Jack Morrison. She was furious to learn that Blackwatch had its own medical and scientific section - independent of hers. In addition, she had learned that a controversial geneticist had taken over this section in complete secrecy. On five occasions, she had placed her letter of resignation on Morrison's desk. The commander of Overwatch apologized and convinced her that this would not happen again and that he had misjudged Gabriel Reyes' ability to manage this clandestine organization. Since then, their relationship had deteriorated. The closeness, which they had maintained since his recruitment, had disappeared behind a formalism adapted to their working relationship. Jack Morrison had had to be content with this because Angela had not forgotten this breach of his word and she had reminded him frequently.

“No. I found out about Blackwatch just like everyone else.” She confessed without batting an eyelid. “Jack Morrison was the only one who knew inside Overwatch and, let's just say I expressed my profound disagreement with him.”

“Can you be more specific?" challenged Helga Streng. “On what points did you disagree?”

Angela remained silent, under the cold, steady gaze of the Norwegian, searching for her words.

“Well... I felt betrayed by Morrison and the people at the head of Blackwatch: Gabriel Reyes, Gerard Lacroix. I was struck with great disillusionment about the future of Overwatch, about its goals of peace and progress. It was not the organization I wanted to be part of. I wanted to save human lives, but I didn't want my discoveries to be used to destroy lives. I offered my resignation to the commander on several occasions, but he consistently refused. He kept me on the team by all means and I became much more distrustful of the hierarchy.”

The camera drones surrounded her as she finished her tirade. Angela saw the American representative nodding calmly like a teacher happy that a pupil was reciting his lesson perfectly.

“What about Gabriel Reyes? The former commander of Blackwatch,” asked Jimenez, pointing to the hooded man in the photograph behind him. “What was your relationship with him?”

“They were far less familiar than they were with Commander Morrison. Gabriel Reyes was a taciturn and stark man. He and Morrison had been comrades-in-arms for years, but they were very different. I had affinities with Commander Morrison but none with Commander Reyes. In any case, when I was recruited into Overwatch, he was already running the clandestine branch of the organization, so I was never under his command.” 

Rogelio Jimenez cleared his throat, and turned to Petras, who then turned to the following question:

“Many Overwatch agents told us about tensions between Morrison and Reyes? Can you confirm that?”

“Yes, I can confirm that. I've been to some tense meetings and some heated exchanges. Within the organization, it was said that it started after the Venice incident and the suspension of Blackwatch activities.”

“Other sources speak of Gabriel Reyes's ouster as Overwatch's commander, to the benefit of Morrison, as the trigger for their misunderstanding.” Ezra Zourhlal contradicts. “Was this also the case?”

“I hadn't joined Overwatch at that time, I can't deny or confirm that.” Angela continued. “However, we can presume that at that time Reyes had to take over the command of Blackwatch and was no longer in any way inferior to Morrison. And when Blackwatch was removed, Reyes' bitterness towards Morrison grew and the exchanges between the two became very complicated.”

“Tell us about these exchanges, Dr. Ziegler, please.” asked Helga Streng curtly.

Angela's memories were hazy on this point. In recent months, Gabriel and Jack's arguments had become part of the daily routine of the organization and many had preferred to ignore them to concentrate on their work and their various assignments.

“I remember that most of the exchanges were about the organization's management. Gabriel Reyes was enraged and angry at the whole world. He had been suspended, his toy had been taken away, and he was being decried in all the media, so Reyes set about interfering in Morrison's affairs, while at the same time criticizing his methods of command. At certain mission briefings, he would sit in as a spectator with the sole purpose of questioning Morrison's approved attack plans and strategies. Morrison reacted badly to Reyes' remarks and did not hesitate to remind him of his own mistakes in Blackwatch, which only made things worse. I witnessed these briefings and was told that these types of exchanges between the two men were much more frequent than they seemed.”

“The testimonies we have gathered also point in this direction." Muskeba Diarra added with a smile. “There's a proverb from my country that says: ‘ _He who feels alone must join the herd..._ ’”

The Senegalese representative's remark intrigued the members of the commission who turned to her in an incredulous impulse to which Muskeba Diarra reacted with undisguised nonchalance.

“Thank you for your contribution, Representative Diarra.” continued William Petras. “All that emerges from these testimonies is that within Overwatch there was a cockfight. And that these roosters were fighting over a dung heap.”

Unlike Diarra's comment, Petras' remark hit the mark, and light laughter swept across the courtroom as thin smiles appeared on the faces. Angela was not pleased. A few years ago, no one would have denigrated Jack Morrison or Gabriel Reyes in this way. During the Omnic Crisis, they had been praised as the saviors of humanity against the omnic threat, at the same time as Overwatch. Times had changed, and their failures had overshadowed their successes, dragging the organization to its downfall. Angela could not deny the failures and mistakes of the two commanders, but Petras' attack on them was very petty, especially towards the dead. No wonder, after all, the man's considerations stopped when they were an obstacle to his political ambitions. Angela hoped he slept well at night because Morrison and Reyes might decide to return to haunt him.

“Let's not digress." recalled William Petras. “Dr. Ziegler, our witnesses tell us that relations between Reyes and Morrison had suddenly deteriorated in the last few months. Can you confirm that statement?”

Angela sighed at length as she closed the bottle she had poured a glass from. Her throat was dry.

“Yes, I can attest to that." she replied before taking a sip of water.

The members of the committee stared at her insistently.

“Could you enlighten us, Dr. Ziegler? What are the reasons for this recent deterioration?”

“It relates to the disappearance of Ana Ama... Captain Ana Amari.”

“Which is also on this picture." Streng added.

Angela gave a slight glance at the Egyptian woman who was enthroned victorious in the photograph, flanking her only daughter and her comrades-in-arms.

“Yes.” Angela replied. “Captain Amari was one of the founding members of Overwatch along with Reyes and Morrison. They fought together for many years, they were brothers in arms, if I may use that expression.”

Angela thought she discerned an amused chuckle from Muskeba Diarra but paid little attention to it.

“Captain Amari disappeared during a rescue mission against a hostile armed organization in Poland and we were never able to find her body.”

Angela remembered that very day when Morrison's rescue team returned from that mission: the severe and grieving mines of the aircraft members, Jack's red and insane eyes, Gabriel's hoarse and desperate rage.

“After Captain Amari's disappearance, most members of the organization realized the importance of her presence in the relationship between Morrison and Reyes. She knew how to keep them both on hold and calm the tension between them. In fact, everyone at Overwatch suffered through Captain Amari's disappearance. She was beloved by all. She was a tough but fair instructor, a rigorous but close commanding officer, a dedicated and empathetic colleague. And as for Jack and Gabriel... After she disappeared, there was nothing to stop them tearing each other apart.”

“ _None of this would have happened under my command!_ ” The words returned to Angela. “ _This is all your fault! You're the one and only one to blame!”_ She buried her memories deep in her mind and tried not to think about it anymore.

“You still appear to be affected by the disappearance of Captain Amari, Dr. Ziegler.” Muskeba Diarra noted.

Angela raised her head to the Senegalese representative whose eyes were scanning the doctor behind her round glasses.

“Overwatch was never the same after her death.” she explained. “She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. In the field, her code name was ''Mama Bear''. She was a maternal figure.”

There was a pause in the hearing room as the image of Ana Amari in the photograph seemed to smile at the audience, like a portrait of a deceased person at a funeral oration.

“No one knows what it's like to cry until they've lost their mother...”

Without looking at the members of the commission, Angela knew that this was another proverb of the Senegalese representative. It was very accurate, and Overwatch had mourned Captain Amari who had died as a soldier as she had always lived. Angela thought that she would have been terribly affected to learn of Overwatch's downfall. And for Fareeha... She had had to mourn and move on.

“Let's proceed.” asked William Petras in a clear voice.

The American representative turned the pages of his file and cleared his throat.

“Dr. Ziegler, do you think the animosity between Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes caused the latter to act against the organization?”

Petras had just finished the prelude to his play and now the real show was starting. 

“No, I seriously doubt it." Angela replied. Gabriel Reyes had strong resentments against his layoff and against Jack Morrison but he could never have attacked the organization.

On that point, Angela didn't go into any further detail. She knew that she did not have the answers to this question and that evidence presented by the commission would prove, in part, that she was wrong. But she couldn't recognize this version of the events that went against what she had lived through on Overwatch. She didn't imagine Reyes could go that far. Even her recent conflicts with the organization did not justify such retaliation.

“Yet we have images and recordings,” Di Maria replied, “that prove that on the day of the attack on Overwatch headquarters, Gabriel Reyes attacked the organization from the inside. Can we see the security footage that we were able to recover despite the site's destruction?”

The holographic images appeared behind the commission and Angela was able to see once again the commission's evidence. She had already been able to observe them when they had been presented to her during her individual interrogation. Masked men wearing Overwatch security uniforms, equipped with handguns and assault rifles, were seen in the corridors of the headquarters in Zurich. They appeared to be in a combat situation, ready to take down anyone who stood in their way. This could be deduced from the bodies lying on the ground that could be seen in the photos. Then there was the hooded silhouette that stood out from the crowd, which could be seen in some of the pictures and which appeared to be leading the group. With his equipment and weapons, everything suggested that it was Gabriel Reyes, even though there were no shots that could really identify the face under the hood.

“The leader of the assault group wears the Blackwatch outfit, which is identical to the uniforms used by the agents in the Venice incident, particularly the one worn by Gabriel Reyes. It should also be noted that the assault group leader has two shotguns, which correspond to the weapons used by Reyes in his operations in the field, which can be verified via Overwatch's mission reports. This cluster of evidence points to Gabriel Reyes as the leader of the assault group responsible for the destruction of the headquarters. As for the other members of the assault team, we have no clear identification of them. Like Reyes, their bodies have not been found.”

“Dr. Ziegler,” Petras continued after the Italian representative's intervention. “I understand that your affiliation with the organization may affect your point of view, but Reyes' implication in the destruction of the Zurich headquarters is, at this point in time, undeniable.”

_“He played a part in it_ ,” Angela conceded inwardly, “ _but he certainly wasn't alone behind it_.” The attack had been carefully planned while the base personnel were being reduced in size. Reyes and his team had struck at the right time when the defence of the base was most vulnerable. Furthermore, the destruction of the base also suggested that explosive charges had been placed at strategic locations within the headquarters. Thus, if the power of the explosions had not destroyed the base, it had greatly weakened the installations, leading directly to its total collapse. This proved the theory that there was an enemy agent inside Overwatch, and Gabriel Reyes was the prime culprit. But for Angela, it was a version far too simple. And it had the unique advantage of corroborating William Petras' biased point of view: Overwatch had collapsed in on itself, consumed by internal conflicts and by the devouring lust for power of its high-ranking officers.

“This audio recording clearly shows that Reyes was leading the attack.” Agostina Di Maria said. Can we please hear the recording?

A volley of bullets resounded through the room, which surprised many people. It was an unusual sound, Angela saw people startled around her. She was now accustomed to the shots and the sound of gunfire, but that didn't stop a shiver from running down her spine.

“Intruders in sector 7G!” made a voice crackling. “They're wearing Overwatch uniforms! Send reinfor...”

A dry slam thundered, followed by another cloud of shots and a deeper, more distant voice that echoed across the room:

“We're going forward! We've already lost enough time!”

Angela recognized Gabriel's dark timbre before another burst of bullets resonated through the room.

“Get moving! We have to get to the lower floors!” Reyes ordered again as the sound of his voice disappeared under the screams of the shots.

New exchanges of fire resounded and then suddenly stopped, bringing the auditorium back to silence.

“Our testimonies clearly identify the second voice on this recording as Gabriel Reyes.” Petras continued. “Can you confirm that, Dr. Ziegler?”

“Yes, it's certainly the voice of Gabriel Reyes.” Angela replied. “That doesn't prove anything though.”

“You seem to contradict yourself, Dr. Ziegler." William Petras remarked with a sarcastic grin. “You consider it highly unlikely that Reyes could ever attack Overwatch and still recognize the overwhelming evidence against him. Your lack of certainty leaves this committee more than perplexed...”

Just like in her interrogation, she had only answered sincerely. She made it a point of honour to be fair on these questions. Petras would not be able to make her accept full responsibility for Reyes, who was no longer even able to defend himself. The destruction of the headquarters in Zurich had been a tragedy, and many of his friends and colleagues had died in the incident. Although everything seemed to point to Reyes, Angela was convinced that it was much more complex than that. Like the others, the destruction of the headquarters remained a mystery. And those who knew the answers were either dead or missing. Angela thought that somewhere Reyes' widow and his child were watching the hearing right now. She didn't want him to remember his father as a terrorist.

“I'm not contradicting myself." Angela said curtly. “I just want to argue that despite all the evidence gathered by the commission, Reyes' responsibility can only be implied and that there are still many grey areas regarding the destruction of the headquarters.”

“That is the sole purpose of this commission of inquiry." William Petras replied ironically. “We are trying to establish the causes and those responsible for this tragic event. You made a deliberate decision to help this commission, Dr. Ziegler.”

“And so I did.” Angela immediately replied in a calm tone. “I was not present in Zurich on the day of the incident. However, our own investigation suggests that charges were placed at strategic points on the Zurich base to weaken its structures but more importantly to cause maximum damage, either to fuel reserves or to electrical power systems.”

“Overwatch has dealt with terrorist attacks in the past.” noted Helga Streng.

“Like in Oslo or Rome." Agostina Di Maria added, "which resulted in significant losses in your ranks as well as some regrettable collateral damage....”

“Overwatch had many enemies.” Petras explained, both inside and outside the organization. “It's unfortunate, however, that individuals like Gabriel Reyes decided to play "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth". I believe that everyone knows this old adage.”

On his remark, which he considered relevant, Petras looked at Muskeba Diarra, who appeared totally indifferent to his sense of humour.

“As a result of what happened in Rome, Reyes decided to take justice into his own hands and therefore murdered Antonio Bartalotti with the means granted to him by Blackwatch, violating Italy's sovereignty, exceeding his rights and disregarding all his duties.”

Petras' voice echoed throughout the room and the speaker took advantage of a pause to catch his breath.

“So, Dr. Ziegler, when you suggest that Gabriel Reyes would not be able to attack Overwatch when everything seems to indicate otherwise - the charges placed at critical points on the base, the security uniforms, the hacked surveillance system - I don't believe it for a second.”

Angela felt the smugness in Petras' words as the crowd resumed its quiet discussions.

“You asked me to testify and I did.” she replied, putting an end to the tumult of whispers behind her back. “I had only a limited view of the bonds that have been forged at the highest levels of the organization. A lot of things escaped me and many unknowns still remain concerning the headquarters destruction in Zurich. And I doubt that this commission can reach a satisfactory outcome without the intervention of a key witness.”

“Which one, Dr. Ziegler?” cut Petras off.

Her answer came soon after.

“Gabriel Reyes.”

The crowd's discussion resumed as Angela and Petras gauged each other's eyes. She wasn't going to give in and she wasn't going to be obedient. Next to Petras, Angela thought she saw an unconcealed smile on Muskeba Diarra's lips.

“You allowed me to witness and clarify what would have caused the destruction of the Zurich headquarters, but in the end, it's the whole fall of Overwatch that we're trying to autopsy. And sadly, for those of you who want concrete answers, I have none. All I can give you is my truth, and that's what prompted me to testify before this inquiry commission. The truth is what Overwatch owed the people of the world, but it has strayed into the unspoken and has gone beyond its own limits. Overwatch has lost what it was originally, and everyone should know why. Either we play by the rules or we're no better than the people we fight. The truth is all I can give you. That's what my colleagues deserve, those who have disappeared and those like me who will have to carry on living to the very end.”

Silence fell in the room as Angela's reply came to an end. The members of the commission remained marbled except for William Petras, whose mouth formed a discreet smirk. William Petras' performance had been well calibrated, and Angela had stuck to her script for most of the questions. She had allowed herself some deviations, but Petras had quickly led her back to the path he had mapped out for the hearing. Angela had fulfilled her part of the bargain and without betraying what she considered to be her truth and Petras had gotten what he desired.

For years, the American representative had wanted Overwatch dismantled and had fought to expose the organization's mistakes and abuses of power. Finally, on this issue, he and Angela were on the same wavelength. They recognized that Overwatch had overstepped its original objectives and had exceeded its own limits, becoming a threat to the balance of power in the world. In this, Angela had been very helpful to William Petras, she agreed with him. But Petras saw in this denunciation a means of asserting his superiority and influence, while Angela saw in it a lesson for future generations, a mistake not to be repeated. That's why she wanted to have the last word and thwart Petras.

Angela took a deep breath and took off her glasses. Slowly, she sipped some water as the committee members in front of her were debating in mid-voice, being careful that none of their microphones could get their conversations out loud.

“I don't think there's any need to go any further on this point." Petras told the assembly.

Angela felt a weight coming off her chest. At last she was free of this burden.

“Before that, Dr. Ziegler, I have one last point to make. More like a final question.”

She froze for a moment to observe William Petras whose face turned into a mocking pout. Angela felt a shiver go up her back.

“Earlier, you said that your involvement with Overwatch stemmed primarily from your desire to save lives, not destroy them. Is that correct?”

She suddenly felt caught off guard, not knowing where the representative wanted to lead her. Petras deviated from his own partition.

“That's right.” she replied simply.

“A few moments ago, you said, and I quote, “Either we play by the rules or we are no better than the people we fight”.”

Petras was delighted by the intonation of each of his words, while at his side Helga Streng had just crossed her arms on her chest and offered the assembly her first smile, which made Angela understand that something was wrong. She went through the faces of the other members of the commission, Rogelio Jimenez slowly rubbed his beard and Agostina Di Maria put her glasses back on her forehead where her black locks were struggling and her pinched eyes fell on her like a bird of prey. The Senegalese representative, the Korean representative and the Tunisian representative stood out from the rest of the committee. The Tunisian Zourhlal had gone back into her investigation file, indifferent to what was happening around her. Bong Yung-Gi's face showed a certain embarrassment where Muskeba Diarra's features revealed her annoyance.

“You condemn Overwatch's interventionist policy,” Petras continued, “and the large number of entirely outlawed and unauthorized operations carried out by the organization. However, Dr. Ziegler, you took part in these illegal interventions yourself.”

And the trap closed in on her.

“Yes, I took part in such operations.” Angela answered sincerely.

“I find it rather paradoxical on your part, Dr. Ziegler, even hypocritical to denounce the excesses of Overwatch when, through your involvement in such operations, you have supported these illegal practices. For example, you had participated in a clandestine operation, under the aegis of Overwatch moreover, even though Blackwatch had been suspended and, as you said earlier, you had become sceptical towards the organization. It was to intervene on British territory during the uprising of the Null Sector. In Overwatch's archives, we were able to find photographs that prove that you were present on the field.”

The images appeared in the back of the commission and the camera drones rushed at them. They were pictures taken on the spot, showing street fighting in a London ravaged by chaos and fire. On the photos, Angela recognized the young Lena, Torbjörn and Reinhardt who were facing hordes of omnics. It was the first time the young Englishwoman had been in the field as an Overwatch agent and Angela remembered that Commander Morrison had asked her to look after the one who would later identify herself as "Tracer". She was also present on the pictures, flying over the battlefield in her Valkyrie armour with her Caduceus, both of her own invention. Angela did not know how the commission had gathered these photographs; she had never seen them before. Another shot of her showed her armed shooting an omnic. The picture was unflattering and suggested that Angela was deliberately attacking the omnic, but she knew that during this mission she had only used her weapon in self-defence. The other members of her team had spearheaded the mission and she had supported and cared for them as she had always done in the field.

“It was a mission, ordered against the will of the British Prime Minister,” Angela explained while remaining calm, “but its purpose was to save civilian lives. Many people were living under the control of the Null Sector, without medical care, without food, and the Null Sector's omnics had taken the Mayor of London, Tekhartha Mondatta and other city officials’ hostage. The British government was unable to act. So in response to this, as the death toll was rising, Commander Morrison decided to send a team to the site to rescue the hostages, provide first aid to the most vulnerable and create an evacuation area for civilians.”

“This remained a completely illegal operation, infringing on the sovereignty of Great Britain.” said Rogelio Jimenez. “Overwatch overstepped its rights, Dr. Ziegler.”

“To save lives, Mr. Jimenez,” Angela insisted. Just look at the number of deaths during the uprising of the Null Sector, if we had responded sooner, victims would have been spared. On this point, I would argue that if Overwatch had not intervened, the uprising would have spread to the rest of the country, and even to the rest of the European continent, causing thousands of deaths and many more injuries. For that is why Overwatch was created, to help and protect innocents.

“That's your point of view, Dr. Ziegler” Petras continued insidiously, “but from the Commission's point of view, it was a violation of the law, a precedent, which led Overwatch to continue to act without real safeguards, as it had been the case in Singapore.”

Other images replaced those of London to unveil an avenue of the Asian metropolis as a true battleground. These shots seemed to have been taken by passers-by who had witnessed the attack. The photos were sometimes blurred, of poor quality or badly framed. On the bodies of vehicles, the silhouette of a tall, shirtless, muscular, and technologically optimized man stood out. Below, Winston, Lena and Genji were facing him, ready to fight. Angela thought about her former teammates. Were they looking at her right now? Tracer had probably returned to the UK, but she had no idea where Winston and Genji were. She hoped that the scientist had found a place where he could continue his research, while for the japanese, she wished him a peaceful place where he could find some serenity until they met again.

In Havana, they had managed to capture Maximilian, a prominent member of Talon, and they had been able to reach an agreement with him. Angela had led this mission and she had held on to the role of negotiator, but she had not fundamentally enjoyed making a bargain with a criminal like Maximilian. He was merely an intermediary within the criminal organization, his dirty money financed Talon's operations and illegal actions. Of course, his hands were not stained with blood, but the many agents he had in his payroll were not so innocent. And yet, through this agreement with Maximilian, Overwatch intended to reach a person far more essential to Talon's organization: Akande Ogundimu, known throughout the world as "Doomfist".

The information given by Maximilien had led them to the Ogundimu track in Singapore but they were running out of time. Commander Morrison was determined to prevent Doomfist from getting away and had ignored the preliminary procedures for this kind of capture operation. Tracer, Winston, Genji and her had been sent in a hurry to apprehend one of the high-ranking members of Talon and this had taken place under very unfortunate circumstances.

As the photographs and videos demonstrated, the confrontation had been inevitable. Akande Ogundimu had lived up to his reputation and firmly resisted to his arrest. In one corner of the screenings, Angela saw Genji flying through the windows of a building as Tracer continued to strafe Doomfist. Elsewhere, a small car sped towards the lens of a camera, while in the distance, the criminal could be seen with Overwatch agents. Angela finally appeared in the picture providing first aid to a family in a restaurant, while keeping an eye on the fight in the street. A blast blew out the restaurant's windows and Angela protected the family with the wings of her Valkyrie armor.

An entire district of Singapore had been ravaged. Doomfist's arrest was accompanied by numerous collateral casualties, especially during the criminal's last stand, who, after neutralizing Tracer and Genji, engaged the team's gorilla in single combat. In an outburst of force and violence, Winston and Doomfist fought a savage brawl that ended with the victory of Overwatch's scientist. However, despite the success of the mission, it was bitter considering the number of wounded and dead.

“This is another illegal intervention” Petras said, presenting the images behind his back, “ordered by Commander Morrison to capture the criminal Akande Ogundimu, known as Doomfist. Dr. Ziegler, what was the purpose of this mission? To protect lives? From what we have seen, the people of Singapore have paid the price for Overwatch's hubris.”

“Mistakes were made." Angela replied. “I couldn't agree more with the commission. This capture operation could have been better managed with the support of the Singaporean authorities, but unfortunately the command decided otherwise.”

“Why didn't you contest this mission order?” asked Helga Streng.

“I expressed concerns to Morrison, but he argued that the capture of Doomfist would curb Talon's activities and would therefore save other lives. I agreed, but the consequences of the operation seemed disproportionate even for the arrest of an individual like Ogundimu.”

“But for Morrison, the end justified the means.” said Helga Streng. “And Ogundimu's arrest in no way stopped or halted Talon's operations.”

“If the purpose is to protect and care for people and prevent unnecessary deaths” Angela said “then I partly agree with that.”

The members of the commission fell silent, Angela thought she saw a smirk on the Senegalese representative's lips.

“It would seem, Dr. Ziegler." William Petras hissed, “that although you deny it, you are far more like Commanders Reyes and Morrison than you think, you obey orders, you act beyond national and international rules and conventions. You behaved like a brave little soldier.”

Some members of the commission laughed slightly, as did other members of the assembly. The smug pout Petras displayed annoyed Angela at the highest point, but she had to make up her mind. He had torn down her defence to put her in front of her contradictions and just for that alone he would brag about it. She had responded sincerely and honestly, but that meant little to Petras. She had offered the commission her version of the facts, as transparent as possible, and there was no point in insisting. She could not stop this machine, which wanted above all to destroy all that remained of Overwatch and its symbol.

“That's your point of view.” she concludes solemnly “I acted as any doctor would have done, not as a soldier.”

Angela felt the grey eyes of William Petras gauge her. She had finished with that last line. He had obtained the show he wanted for the media, he had cowardly overwhelmed the dead, and he wouldn't humiliate her any longer.

“Do you have anything else to add, Dr. Ziegler?” he inquired.

Angela did not answer, giving a defiant look to the American representative, telling him that the masquerade was over. Petras waited a few seconds for the doctor to respond, then upon her silence, he ended his performance.

“The hearing is officially over. Thank you again, Dr. Ziegler, for your unfailing support to the Commission.”

With these words, he stood up, followed by the other members of the commission and their assistants, and disappeared into the next room. The audience had broken its religious silence and was chatting in a noisy cacophony. Angela remained seated for a few minutes and tried to remove the bitter taste in her mouth with a glass of water.

* * *

*******

The show is over.

Angela watched the last performance of the day down below. The media gathered on the United Nations Headquarters esplanade were listening to William Petras who was speaking to the journalists. He had to give his impressions of the exchanges in this affair to the press while repeating the same tirades and rhetorical formulations that were extremely specific to him. He would offer his synthetic and biased version of the hearing and it was his version that would remain in all the memories.

Angela lost interest in what was happening on the lower floors and turned away from the window. Following the hearing, the Swiss representative had invited her to come and wait for his driver in the offices of his delegation. He had explained to her that this would save her from being questioned by journalists and the intrusive targets of the camera drones. The latter did not have access to the private parts of the United Nations headquarters. She had politely agreed to be escorted to the upper floors, but once inside the offices, the Swiss representative had informed her that he had a last-minute meeting and had left her alone. He had been gone for more than twenty minutes and she had no news of her driver.

Angela moved back to the seat where the representative had invited her to make herself comfortable and took a sip of water from the bottle she had been given for the hearing. She put her hand under her glasses and rubbed her eyes for a long time before taking out her holomobile to watch for a message from her driver. However, the image that emanated from the small device notified her that she still hadn't received anything. She put the device back on the representative's desk and turned her gaze towards the large bay windows overlooking the heart of Manhattan. The imposing figure of the New Chrysler Building was overwhelming the panorama of the various buildings and structures in the neighborhood, among which were many embassies and consulates of states with seats at the United Nations. In the distance, in an orange sky, the sun descended to the spire of the skyscraper and Angela realized that from the Hudson River, the sun's reflections on the arches of the New Chrysler Building must have been magnificent. She stayed for a few moments to observe this urban landscape, while the New York environment roared outside.

A faint sound emanated from her holomobile and she quickly retrieved it. It was a message from a number she didn't know, probably her driver. She opened it and discovered a short text of a few lines.

_What a performance. You almost brought tears to my eyes. I want you to know that my offer still stands. You know where to find me._

_M._

Displeased, Angela put the holomobile back on the desk and tried to banish from her mind the dark thoughts evoked by her interlocutor. She certainly should have been at her side today, sitting in front of the inquiry commission to face the questions of Petras and the others. Her affiliation with Blackwatch had led to the downfall of Overwatch. Somehow, Angela was convinced of that. She knew things that would have been worth hearing today. However, this viper had made herself unreachable and above all untouchable. Her scientific integrity remained intact and she had joined a caste of research leaders who ran a city at the forefront of technology and science in the Middle East. But Angela had nothing to do with them and certainly not with her.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. What could have delayed her driver? As agreed, he had to pick her up from one of the floors of the underground parking garage, so that no one could see her leave the building. She would not stand the scrutiny of the cameras again.

She felt terribly exhausted after what seemed like an endless day. She had thought that after the hearing she would feel liberated, a bit lighter, but this was not the case. Something was tying up her stomach and she didn't know exactly what. Maybe it was the last message she had received that was upsetting her? Maybe it was the accumulation of all the recent anxieties related to her hearing. Or maybe she would be more secure and relaxed when she got back to the hotel? No, it would be much better if she was back home in her native Switzerland.

_But to do what?_ she thought. Since the dismantling of Overwatch, she had struggled to offer her services to the world's largest hospitals, but she had met with reluctance and mistrust. Department heads did not want her to join their ranks. They felt that the presence of a former Overwatch senior staff member could reflect badly on their unit. Some feared that Angela might attract too much attention from the press and that this might disrupt patient care and the efficiency of their service. Research centres and labs had also closed their doors to her for similar reasons. The aura and the disgrace of Overwatch stuck to her. Even her former and distant Swiss colleagues seemed hesitant when she suggested that she would like to return to the operating rooms and hospital corridors.

Angela didn't see herself sitting at home doing nothing, especially now that she had just opened herself up to the media frenzy, which would keep an eye on her and scrutinize every move she made. Her home would then become her prison and she would only have to cross her fingers and hope that time will do its effect and that this cursed hearing would be forgotten along with the mere existence of Overwatch.

“Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela opened her eyes again and saw a young man in a blue suit, wearing glasses and smiling at her from the office doorway.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Dr. Ziegler.” he said solemnly.

“You're not disturbing me.” Angela answered, getting up from her chair.

“I am Assane Keïta, I am a member of the Senegalese representation at the UN.” announced the young man extending his hand. “Mrs. Diarra would like to speak to you.”

Angela, perplexed, remained motionless for a moment before shaking hands with Keïta.

“What does the representative want with me?” she asked, a little suspicious.

“Mrs. Diarra will explain it to you far better than I can.” replied Assane Keïta without losing her smile.

“I'm sorry but I'm afraid I will not have enough time for you.” Angela replied. “My driver will arrive soon ... I would not like to keep him waiting.”

“Everything seems to point... that he hasn't arrived yet...” Assane Keïta supported. “It won't be long, Dr. Ziegler, I promise you.”

Angela breathed a tired sigh and considered saying no to the invitation. The assistant did not give up despite the Swiss woman's reluctance and she felt that he would continue to insist until she gave in, always with that same courteous smile.

“Well, fine." she respond as she collected her holomobile, her coat and her briefcase. “I'm right behind you. But you'll have to tell the Swiss representative that I had to leave, I don't want to be rude since he's allowed me to stay here.”

“Don't worry, Dr. Ziegler.” Assane reassured her. “I will make sure he gets that message as soon as possible.”

They both left the Swiss delegation offices and the assistant invited him to follow her.

“I hope it's not far. I could get lost here...”

“Don't worry." Assane assured as they passed the third door of the corridor. “We're already there.”

Angela saw the green, yellow and red flag on the door, with the green five-pointed star in the centre. Assane Keïta opened it and invited her in. It led to an empty workspace with several desks spread out in various parts of the room. Assane Keïta closed behind them and pointed her towards a door between two cupboards full of files. Without knocking, he opened the office door.

“She is here, Madam.”

Angela, standing back, did not see the inside of the office, but the opening of the door had released a harsh smell of cigarettes that scratched her throat. With a gesture, Assane offered to get rid of her belongings, she gave her her coat and briefcase, and then she walked in.

Muskeba Diarra was waiting for her, with a cigarette on the lips, sitting at her desk. Unlike at the hearing, she was no longer wearing her glasses and Angela felt her grey eyes pierce her as soon as she arrived in the room. Nevertheless, she greeted him with a broad smile, much like her assistant.

“Dr. Ziegler, please sit down.”

Angela took a seat in front of the representative while behind her, Assane hung her coat on the wall and placed her briefcase on an adjacent chair before exiting the room and closing the door behind him, leaving them alone.

“Cigarette, Dr. Ziegler?”

“No, thanks, I don't smoke.” Angela answered, clearing her throat.

The room seemed to be filled with smoke. The blinds had been lowered over the large windows of the office, giving it a gloomy and austere appearance. On top of that, the smell was bothering Angela greatly and the smoke stung her eyes. She suddenly regretted taking the invitation.

“May I know why you wanted to talk to me?” ask Angela impatiently.

Muskeba Diarra smashed her cigarette into an ashtray and put her hands together on the table.

“First as a preamble, and because I know someone has to do it.” Diarra began. “I am sincerely sorry for the farce that took place earlier during the hearing. I don't think it will help you sleep better at night, but this inquiry commission is divided into two factions, the one led by William Petras, who wanted Overwatch dismantled, and the other, more motley, who remain split on the role of the organization. However, Petras has done everything to ensure that the latter does not intervene today...”

“No need to apologize, I knew exactly what to expect.” cut Angela bitterly. “Petras had prepared the questions and I gave the answers he wanted, but he strayed from the partition, and that for the sole purpose of trapping me.”

"All the members of the commission were aware of the last act Petras had planned. I really regret not having interfered.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because William Petras did everything he could to ensure that this hearing went as he had planned." explained Muskeba Diarra. “He put pressure on all the members of the commission, except for those who were already sympathetic to his cause, such as the Mexican representative Jimenez and the Italian Di Maria. Petras implicitly announced that the inquiry commission should proceed as one voice: his own. During the working sessions, he was rarely accommodating to dissenting voices. Nobody dared to question him, the American representative is an influential man at the United Nations, and it is well known that he should not be displeased. A proverb in my country says: _The starving man knows neither law nor respect_.”

“How about you? What was your position on the subject?” Angela asked curiously.

“I was divided. I would have liked this commission to have been more moderate. Especially with people like Helga Streng as a member, this woman is on the same wavelength as William Petras, and I would even say that she is perfectly inflexible. If he hadn't played his trump card at the end of the hearing, I can assure you that she would have managed to trap you in one way or another.”

“It doesn't matter now, William Petras wanted Overwatch dead, he finally got it. I gave him his triumph live on every channel around the world.”

“It's a good thing you're still optimistic.” Muskeba Diarra joked.

“I try to be.” Angela replied in a dark tone.

It was a terrible defeat. She should never have agreed to take part in this travesty, but it was too late to have any regrets. Yet what would her former Overwatch companions think? What would Gabriel, Jack, and Ana have thought of all this? She preferred not to think about it.

“Let's just forget about it.” Muskeba Diarra said. “I didn't invite you here to talk about Overwatch. I invited you here to talk about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes, about you." Muskeba Diarra replied with a broad smile. “I wanted to meet you. Besides, that's one of the reasons why I came here to participate directly in your hearing with William Petras. And I'm glad to see that I didn't make a mistake. What are your current plans, Dr. Ziegler?”

“My plans? she wondered aloud. Well ...”

“Doctor Ziegler.” said Muskeba Diarra by running his hand through his short grey hair. “A great woman of research and medicine such as yourself, you should be courted by everyone.”

An embarrassed grimace split the angelic face of the Swiss and then turned into a bitter-sweet mimic.

“Unfortunately, my situation is not as pleasant.” she replied.

“Your commitment remains the same as in Overwatch: to protect and save lives. Isn't that right?”

“Of course.”

Muskeba Diarra took a new cigarette from her pack and lit it with her rudimentary lighter.

“I think we are alike Dr. Ziegler.” Muskeba Diarra began. “I was a nurse during the Omnic Crisis. I served and learned in the field and I am proud of what I have accomplished over the years, of the lives I was able to save. Whether you're a doctor or a nurse, it's simple for us, our sole purpose is to preserve life. Soldiers, like your Morrison, they sow death and we fight it.”

Muskeba held the cigarette to his lips and expelled a volute of smoke into the air.

“Petras can be proud to have succeeded in dismantling Overwatch, but it only serves its own interests. _Bad tongues always drown in their spittle._ You can't expect anything from that man and you're better than him. Overwatch is no more, yet the conflicts continue, and the fighters are still numerous as before. And the weak suffer and will continue to suffer because no one cares about them. William Petras doesn't care about any of this, he grew up in a family of Long Island bigwigs, he attended all the big schools and elite student clubs, all this to launch himself into a vain and interested political career like so many before him. He tells anyone who will listen that he fought in Vermont with the civilian forces. But it's all lies, he spent the entire Omnic Crisis entrenched in his family villa in Florida. After that, he realized that a career at the United Nations would bring him the greatest prestige, and he used all his influence to reach his goal. This man has no awareness of the value of a life and all that could enliven you and me.”

Angela listened silently to the Senegalese representative whose voice betrayed a buried anger. She pulled at her cigarette again and exhaled deeply.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don't want anything from you, Dr. Ziegler, it's you that I want.”

“That's... that's the first time I've ever been told that.” Angela laughed nervously.

“Beyond my role as Senegal's representative here, I manage a number of non-governmental organizations specializing in humanitarian work and which intervene in different contexts: war theatres, protection of civilian populations, supplying and delivering supplies to vulnerable populations, first aid to populations affected by natural disasters, and so on and so forth. Your experience in hospitals and your years of service with Overwatch make you the ideal candidate for the position. And I think, indeed, that you would fit in very well with us. If that's okay with you, of course.”

Angela, caught off guard, put her hand over her mouth in a pensive manner. Now that she had heard the representative's proposal, she felt a new trap closing in on her, but it seemed far less painful to her.

Naturally, I don't want you to relive the same disillusions you had when you were in Overwatch." Muskeba Diarra continued. “I want you to have a large degree of autonomy and to train the agents and medical staff on the field. We use weapons only as a last resort and only to protect ourselves or our patients. We are doctors, not soldiers. After all, you can't cure someone with bullets...”

Angela raised her head at the utterance of this sentence and crossed the Senegalese representative's grey pupils, which had not lost their intensity. This hearing had definitively signed the end of Overwatch. She had defended the organization and advocated its values in the past, but they seemed far away now. She therefore had to turn this page in her life and stand up for what she believed in, in order to be sincere with herself again.

“I accept your proposal, on the condition that I can work by my own terms.” Angela insisted.

Muskeba Diarra's face started to grin before she laughed.

“I'll personally make sure of that, Dr. Ziegler. I would expect nothing less from you.”

They spent the next few minutes discussing the formalities and details of her new job, and then Angela received a message from her driver that he would be coming to the United Nations parking lot soon and that he was just down the street. Angela replied that there was no reason for him to enter the parking lot and that she would meet him in front of the esplanade. She greeted the representative and her assistant, retrieved her coat and her briefcase and went to the elevator.

As she entered the cabin, she noticed that her stomach aches had disappeared. As had her doubts. When she arrived at the UN Hall, the last remaining journalists stormed in, questions poured in and drone cameras orbited around her, but Angela couldn't care less.

“Dr. Ziegler! How do you feel after your hearing?”

“Do you have anything to say about William Petras' last statements?”

“Dr. Ziegler! Do you still have contact with other members of Overwatch?”

Angela continued to move forward undistracted by the nebula of individuals and drones surrounding her. Her pace was light and fast, and the journalists had to keep up with her. She escaped from the lobby to the outside and a new wave of people and drones joined the crowd.

“Would you testify again if the inquiry commission asks you to?”

“What would you suggest to London's new mayor, who is facing new omnic riots?”

“Do you think Talon remains a significant threat despite Doomfist's imprisonment?”

She crossed the esplanade always at the same tempo. At a glance, she had identified her driver's car waiting for her in a lane reserved for dignitaries. The cohort of journalists continued to follow her, but Angela maintained her olympian calm as she was overwhelmed with questions.

“Tekhartha Mondatta has expressed his desire to meet you, is there an appointment scheduled?”

“Several theories say that Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison are still alive, do you believe it?”

“Blair Clarke for Atlas News! What are your plans from now on, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela had just reached the car where her driver was holding the door for her. She turned to the reporters and the drone cameras that clung to her lips:

“I think I'm going to continue to do exactly why I became a doctor: to save lives.”

On this exit from the stage, Angela got into the car and her driver closed the door behind her. Afterwards, Angela saw the silhouettes of the journalists clustering around the vehicle. But they were quickly pushed aside by the driver. He got behind the wheel and the car escaped from the mass of reporters surrounding it and made its way to the main road along the East River.

Cradled by the sound of the car's propellers, Angela watched the sun's reflection on the river, thinking back to the long day that had finally come to an end with a more than satisfactory outcome for her.

The page of her life at Overwatch had been turned in the worst possible way, but now a new part of her life was opening up. There was no need to have regrets for now. She had said what needed to be said in her soul and conscience and that was the only positive thing that she could come out of that hearing.

As the waters of the East River passed before her eyes, Angela remembered an old Swiss saying that her father often repeated to her:

_"Make truth your support and honesty your halo."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> After a long absence, I come back to you with a 3rd chapter focused on the character of Angela "Mercy" Ziegler. It's a chapter that comes a little bit in pain. I really like Angela's character, and I really enjoyed writing about her because she's a figure who has many relationships with Overwatch. I think it's very clear that she is central to the plot.  
> It was not planned that I deal with Angela immediately. Chapter 3 was initially devoted to Tracer but the idea of a scene centred on Angela being questioned by an inquiry commission took root in my mind and I had to prioritize it over the other chapters. In short, for Tracer afficionados, you'll have to wait a little longer...
> 
> Writing this chapter was long in many ways because my motivation was shifting. Also, as the containment was coming, I was freely uninspired and the lack of new content on the Overwatch game didn't help much to stimulate the imagination. But in the end, Chapter 3 is published, it's long and I hope you like it.
> 
> The next chapter will be about an entirely different character, not related to Overwatch, or at least not directly. The chapter has been posted in French and I will translate it as soon as possible.
> 
> Thanks to my friend Etsukazu for his correction and to the people who commented on the fiction. Your messages are a pleasure to read and I can't wait for you to find out the following. Let me know if there are any mistakes or awkwardness in the translation. English is not my mother tongue, I'm just a humble frog eater.
> 
> See you soon.


	4. The Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunted man travels to Singapore in search of answers.

** THE HEIR  **

Singapore was no longer the same. Before his eyes, the city he had once visited as a child looked nothing like he remembered it. Buildings and skyscrapers had proliferated like colossal fingers, struggling to reach the purplish sky, suffocating by their disproportion the structures at their feet. These giants of glass and metal stretched around the business district, as well as the historic downtown of the city-state, which lay under their shadow. In just over a decade, the heart of Singapore had been reshaped like most Asian megacities. The "garden city" had seen many of its natural parks disappear and be replaced by residential buildings or luxury hotels. 

The city had been denatured. The buildings with coloured neon outlines, covered with holographic images of derisory products, betrayed the old life of the place and made it look like any Asian city. The facades of those structures were filled with bright and noisy advertising images, praising a soda, a cereal brand, or a local celebrity he didn't recognize. On the side of one building, he saw an animated creature, with the body of a lion and a fish tail, promoting a big fast-food restaurant. He remembered the story his father had told him about this creature and its connection to Singapore. A former prince, who had fled his city under attack from a neighboring kingdom, had stopped on an island where he had met a strange creature, which he thought was a lion. Later, he decided to establish a city at the very spot where he had encountered the animal. According to legends, this was the origin of Singapore, the “city of the lion”. 

The city-state had, over the years, prided itself on this heritage. As a true maritime junction, between the West and the East, it had erected as its emblem a creature half lion and half fish: the Merlion. At the estuary of the Singapore River, a white stone statue of a lion with scales and a fish tail stood enthroned, spitting a long stream of water into the bay. This creature would become the city' s emblem and would represent it all over the world. A symbol tainted with tradition and history in a modern city in communion with its origins. But today, the Merlion, the legendary and emblematic creature of Singapore, had been transformed into a vulgar publicity mascot, a poorly conceived idea born from the greedy minds of ambitious executives in search of profit. 

Over the side of a tower block, he saw the crazy, animated version of the Merlion shaking a can of Nano Cola, then opening it to pour the liquid over the sign, revealing the name of the soda brand and the nearest place where it could be purchased. Huge airships bearing his effigy scattered across the city's skies, displaying screens on their big bellies to broadcast programmes and other informative or advertising messages. Such practices are commonplace in his native Japan, but he never thought Singapore would stoop to this level, to the point of losing its very identity. At least, that was the memory of the city he recalled, the image his father had portrayed to him when they both went there on a business trip. 

His father's work often required him to travel, and since he was old enough to learn and understand, he had to accompany him. As his heir, he would take over his father's activities upon his death and he had been raised, educated and trained for this sole purpose. So when his father had to meet several of his financial partners in Singapore, he was required to attend all meetings and exchanges. His father was a very conventional man, he respected the ways and customs of his peers. As a result, each encounter with his partners was accompanied by lengthy rituals and solemn ceremonies aimed at reaffirming his place as head of the clan and the deep bonds he had with his subordinates. He remembered the long hours spent silently attending these exchanges alongside his father, who received all the tributes and reverences. 

During these gatherings, he had always felt the heavy and inquisitive eyes of the other members of the clan, who gauged and observed him, scrutinizing each of his postures, each of his expressions. His father had forced him to adopt a straight and proud stature, similar to his own: a dragon's stature, who didn't mind the snakes whistling. Beyond his training, his participation in clan meetings also had another purpose: to dissuade reckless members who would want to harm the chief of the clan. If misfortune were to befall Sojiro Shimada, it would be useless for them to hope to take over the clan leadership because he would have left behind an heir, shaped and moulded to become a man of equal caliber: a righteous and implacable authoritarian leader. He had worked on this task to the end, following the path laid out by his father and the clan elders. The very opposite of his little brother. 

Sojiro had been extremely strict and uncompromising with him. This one would have hoped that it would be the same for Genji. His little brother had been schooled and trained in martial arts, especially kenjutsu. Just like him, he had been taught the way the clan worked, its mechanisms, its strengths and weaknesses, in the hope that he would be able to assist him in his task when their father passed away. But he had known for quite a long time that he could not rely on him. Genji was undisciplined, arrogant and careless since childhood. 

Many years earlier, on their visit to Singapore, he had joined his father in his meetings, but Genji did as he pleased. He said that he did not want to attend the talks, that he would refuse to sit idle for so long, that he wanted to see the city gardens that he had heard so much about. His father had threatened him with punishments, but his little brother was truly stubborn. Furious and weary of his younger son's whims, Sojiro had given Genji two henchmen, two chaperones who would accompany him into town and answer all his requests. However, he had been punished. For months, he had been forced to clean the family shrine from top to bottom. Nevertheless, he remembered his little brother's victorious smile that day. Genji had obtained what he wanted. He had spent the whole day visiting Singapore, strolling through the gardens, eating ice cream and pastries, while he had to endure his father's interminable reunions. In the evening his brother had told him about all his adventures in the lion's city and he had listened, wearing a mask of indifference, hiding his bitterness. The years had passed, and the weight of responsibility had fallen heavily on his shoulders, while his brother had comforted himself in his vanity, carelessness and fancies. Henceforth, it was pointless to look back to those days. Hanzo's path had once again led him to Singapore, where a new task awaited him. 

From the top of the building on which he was standing, Hanzo had a stunning view of Marina Bay and its luxury hotels as well as the penthouses on top of some of the structures. Only one in particular interested him. A tower with postmodern architecture that was much less striking than the surrounding properties, with clean, glass facades. At the very summit of this building was an opulent apartment, encompassing the top three floors of the complex. A large terrace with exotic plants, sun loungers and a swimming pool overlooked the street. Nothing very surprising in reality. All Hanzo had to do was look around, at the top of each building he could see similar flats. Yet the one he observed seemed far too common among this group of apartments. At a glance, compared to the surrounding penthouses, this luxury apartment was nothing extraordinary or remarkable, and yet that was the ingenuity of the ruse. 

Hanzo took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the target housing. After a long glance at the roof of the building and its terrace, he stood on a large box that was supposed to contain the penthouse's electrical panel and the power supply for its security system. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver that was different from his other projectiles. Its tube was wider and close to its tip was an electric jammer whose red light flashed faintly. With a confident gesture, he notched the arrow and bound his bow. He stopped his breathing and cleared his mind, closing himself off from the noises of the city that rumbled around him. His eyes fell on his target. He wouldn't get a second chance. He felt the wind caressing his neck and his outstretched arms. He was an outstanding archer and therefore knew how to perfectly adjust his shots according to the power and direction of the wind. He had trained so much in this art that all those things were now natural. He fired his arrow and when he saw its trajectory, he knew that he had aimed right. 

The shutdown of the terrace's watch lights proved him right. From that instant on, time was running out. Hanzo retrieved an arrow from the ground with a long cable attached to it, the other end of which he had tied to the base of a nearby antenna. With equal composure, he took the arrow to his bow and tightened the rope. The bolt whistled in the air, followed by the cable that snaked over the street. The tip of the arrow crashed into the trunk containing the electrical panel, and without wasting any time, Hanzo reached the antenna and pulled the cable to make it as tight as possible. 

With a heavy pressure on the rope, he found that this should be more than enough to allow him to cross the gap between the two buildings. He pulled the straps of his quiver and zipped his jacket up to his neck. He passed his bow over the cable and hung on to each end, then, taking a running pace, he leaped. 

His bow slid down the cable in a hum that would have alerted the most vigilant, but the city's bustle and the snoring of the vehicles below eclipsed it completely. Hanzo took the liberty of peeking down below. The gleam and neon lights of Singapore, illuminating avenues and streets, contrasted with the sheer darkness of the rooftops of buildings and residences. As he rapidly approached his objective, he increased his grip on his bow and prepared to let go as soon as he came within range. In a matter of seconds, he dropped himself on the penthouse roof, landing on a roll. 

Without delay, Hanzo then walked to the box containing the electrical panel. He spotted his arrow piercing through the side of the container. He had no trouble opening the electrical cabinet door, forcing the lock with a thin but strong blade. Once the door opened, he found himself in front of a maze of wires, electrical boxes and fuses. He had to locate the power supply for the security system and it proved to be much easier than he thought. It was a well-hidden box, located in a corner of the trunk, which had been added much later to the overall panel. Hanzo examined the power box and ran his hands through the gaps to look for the electrical wires. After finding them, he took care to sever them one by one to completely neutralize the device. 

He closed the trunk door and retrieved the arrow equipped with the electric jammer that had cut off the general power supply. His light was a faint red glow. Hanzo fumbled with the scrambler and found its switch. He paused for a moment and pressed the button. As he had hoped, the terrace lights on the lower floor came back on. Electricity seemed to be flowing back into the apartment, but he had to make sure that the security system was not. Hanzo slowly took a few steps on the roof, still with his finger on the jammer switch. His posture was the posture of a tiger on the prowl. The archer relaxed as no alarm sounded. 

It was common for luxury apartments like this one to have the latest security systems that identified all potential threats for the owner and his property. If he had not taken the precaution of using the scrambler before reaching the penthouse, as soon as he arrived on the roof, the sensors would have spotted him and activated the alarm, and all this would have been in vain. However, Hanzo was very meticulous and he did not regret buying this equipment from the Singapore black market. 

Hoping that this would be the last obstacle before him, Hanzo let himself fall on the terrace, not far from the swimming pool, whose glow projected bluish reflections on the walls. He carefully avoided revealing himself to the light and approached the bay windows. He knew that the apartment would be empty and that the occupant would not return for several hours. Hanzo examined the lock on the bay window and found that it was an electronic lock, aligned with all of the apartment's interconnected functions. This was state-of-the-art technology that allowed the owner of such an apartment to control all aspects of his home, including its safety. 

However, this technological breakthrough hadn't stopped thieves and burglars from finding a parade, and Hanzo had been able to solicit the perfect people. He took out another gadget from a pocket of his jacket that was part of his clandestine purchases: an unlocking key. The archer stuck the key against the side of the door, exactly where the lock was located on the other side. He pressed the button on the key and after a few seconds he heard a rattling sound, indicating that the door lock had just been deactivated. Carefully he opened the glass door and entered the penthouse. 

The apartment's interior was exactly what one would expect from such place. The room he had just entered - the living room, at first glance - was vast, all in length and included the majority of the flat. At its opposite end, overhung by an imposing chandelier, a large marble table was framed by a dozen chairs, on which rested a varnished wooden plate where he could distinguish luxury glassware as well as alcohol bottles. Close to him, large white leather sofas faced each other, separated by a modern transparent low table, and above one of them Hanzo assumed that there was a holographic screen that took up almost the entire wall. 

The archer crawled through the darkness of the apartment, groping his way through it. Only the pale gleam of the neon lights and the glow of the lights of the surrounding buildings made it possible for him to distinguish what was around him. For the rest, he trusted his instincts. Hanzo arrived at the first door and discovered the kitchen. From what he could see, it looked like any kitchen you could see in commercials and holovids. He found nothing on the worktops, nothing in the sink. Everything seemed intact, as if the occupant of the apartment was not using this room. Knowing the man, Hanzo thought that he shouldn't cook, and that he was certainly relying on one of his lackeys to do the job when he didn't go out to eat. This was precisely the reason for his absence tonight. The hours and minutes displayed by the domestic appliances reminded Hanzo that he had no time to lose and he pursued his exploration. 

He walked along a baroque-style chest of drawers on which he saw richly crafted vases whose appearance reminded him of the antiquities owned by his father. With more light, he would have been able to see the shades of colour that dotted the two works as well as the flora and fauna motifs that were depicted. Hanzo made out a statuette placed next to a lamp on a richly decorated pedestal table. It depicted a pair of intertwined dragons with their tails curling from the base to the top where the creatures were confronting themselves. The legendary snakes seemed to face each other in a titanic duel, unless it was a dance. Hanzo turned his attention away from the object and entered what appeared to be the main bedroom. 

A bed that was far too wide occupied the space of the room, suffocated by numerous pillows and cushions and kitsch bedspread. To his right, a large bay window offered the occupant a view of downtown Singapore and its neon architecture. There was nothing interesting at first, until Hanzo saw a staircase in a corner of the room that led to a lower floor. With stealth, he walked down the stairs to a new corridor and thus new doors. The first door opened to the bathroom, the second to the dressing room, but Hanzo, following his intuition, went to the last one. 

When he opened the door, he discovered a desk and the shelves of a bookcase that extended over two sides of the room. Against a wall he saw a computer console and Hanzo knew he had found what he came for. He stood in front of the console and pressed the power button. A holographic keyboard appeared and three holo-screens were displayed before his eyes, lighting up the room with a blue radiance. The central screen revealed an identification window asking the user for a password. Hanzo wasn't going to try to break this code, he had again shown himself to be very farsighted. He took a small device, similar to a saucer, out of his backpack and placed it on the console. The device turned on and holographic controls appeared on top of it. His visit to the black market had been anything but fortuitous. 

He tapped the commands on his device and started the computer hack. This hacker tool would allow him to bypass the security systems of the computer and retrieve all the information needed to bypass the computer barriers. But before that, the device needed time. Hanzo walked away from the keyboard and examined the files and documents on the desk. He found nothing significant: Japanese letters of thanks from a customer, printed invoices, and contracts for the sale of real estate. It suited the old man to rely on traditional means of communication when the whole world had gone digital. 

At the end of the desk, Hanzo saw a picture in a frame. He gently grasped it and with the light from the computer screen, he was able to catch a glimpse of the picture. An old man was sitting on a chair under a cherry blossom tree. The man stood proudly supported by his cane next to a kirin statue that seemed to be staring at the person taking the picture. His thinning hair was snow-white and wrinkles had marked his face, as had the years. He may have looked proud in this photograph, but Hanzo knew that the man was trying to hide his advanced age, especially the feverishness of his legs. He had always known him with a cane, even as a child. 

A change on the computer screen caught his attention. The hacking device had served its purpose, allowing the archer to access what he was looking for. The computer interface was open to him and he didn't know where to start. Each time he wanted to open a file, a new authentication request appeared, but the hacking tool had harvested all of the device's identifying data, and as a result, each request was overridden and Hanzo navigated freely through the files. He had also been trained in the practice of software hacking. This was not his area of expertise, but in the current world, one should not be left on the sidelines when it comes to new technologies. Even his father had understood this. 

Minutes went by as Hanzo browsed through the computer files. As he meandered through the folders, he discovered new information or a sub-folder that prompted him to explore even further. The owner of the computer would soon have no more secrets from him, and that was Hanzo's original goal. In the end, everything went as planned, and it should continue like that until the occupant of the apartment came back home. 

* * *

Almost an hour later, the doors of the private elevator leading to the penthouse opened. The pale light of the elevator cast two long shadows into the lobby. The first was slow and sinuous while the second was livelier. The elevator doors closed, and the shapes disappeared. The chandelier in the lobby lit up and he could precisely distinguish the silhouettes of the two individuals. The old man with the cane was back home. He could hear the rattling of his cane on the floor with every step he made. The other seemed to be a woman, by the look of her appearance, the suit and the dress she was wearing. 

“Thank you, Yatsuko.” Said the man in Japanese as the woman took off his jacket. “You may go.” 

“You don’t want me to stay with you?” she asked in Japanese. 

“No, I don’t have the heart for that tonight. I just want to sleep. You can go home.” 

The woman bowed respectfully and obeyed. The elevator opened its doors once again and she disappeared, leaving the old man alone. He turned off the hall lights and with a languid step entered the living room, leaning continuously on his cane. He stopped in front of a small table and turned on the switch of a lamp that lit up a slight part of the room. Hanzo remained hidden. The light wasn't bright enough for the man to spot him. The elderly man then walked to the large marble table where he took a few moments to serve himself a glass of alcohol, which he drank slowly. Then he froze, and Hanzo saw him stretching out like a cat on the watch. He turned around and stared at the room for a long time before taking another drink, and still with his heavy, dragging pace, supported by his cane, he reached a leather armchair, placing his glass on an nearby table. 

“I hadn't expected any visitors tonight." he announced aloud as he slumped into the seat. 

He had just spoken in Japanese. He knew he wasn't alone. Despite the years, his senses had not faded. 

“Good evening, Munen." Hanzo solemnly answered, revealing himself. 

He scrutinized the old man's face, looking for a glimpse of fear, astonishment, or even satisfaction. But Munen's face remained of marble: no tension, no grimace betrayed his moods. This was not surprising coming from an Elder of the Shimada Clan. As a child, Hanzo had seen them as immovable and imperturbable authority figures, just like his father. 

“It's been a long time, Hanzo.” Munen said melancholically. “Far too long...” 

“Five years, as far as I'm concerned.” said the archer, moving closer to the elder, bypassing the furniture. 

Munen's eyes were tired, overwhelmed by time, and yet Hanzo felt them gauging him. 

“You've changed, Hanzo.” 

“And you're exactly the same.” 

The old man seemed to relax and a smile appeared on his face. 

“After all these years, why did you come here tonight?” 

Hanzo didn't answer right away, not taking his eyes off the elder. He went to the window where he watched the traffic below. 

“I'm being hunted, Munen.” 

“Hunted?” he asked, leaning on his cane. 

“A man tried to kill me in Bangkok: a famous head-hunter in Southeast Asia.” Hanzo continued, walking away from the window. “Sadly for him, he was no match to me, but it made me suspicious. When two omnic assassins assaulted me in Hong Kong, there was no room for doubt. Someone put a bounty on my head.” 

“It's unfortunate.” Munen said indifferently. “But how does that explain your intrusion into my home at such a time of the night?” 

“I have come to seek refuge, and most importantly, I have come to ask for your assistance in finding those who seek to kill me.” 

Hanzo gazed into Munen's eyes, hoping to discern some emotion. 

“How did you find me?” the old man asked. 

The archer smiled at the remark and went to face the Elder. 

“The years have not affected my knowledge and skills just as you haven't lost your business sense. As you taught me in the past, I simply identified clandestine and criminal activities in which you were closely or remotely involved. Your sphere of influence is vast, but I was able to regroup several organizations that you had at your command. Finding them was difficult, but once I did, following the trail back to you was more than easy.” 

Hanzo perceived that as he pursued his explanation, Munen became more and more tense. His hands on his cane looked shaky. 

“Someone had to maintain and protect the activities of our organization after you left.” the Elder replied dryly. “The Shimada Empire no longer exists, but we made sure that our activities and those of your father didn't disappear with him.” 

Hanzo recognized the reproving tone of his former teacher. An inflexibility and firmness that made him the man he was today. The Elders of the Shimada clan all came from the same pattern, shaped and molded as a wise and experienced entity to guide the head of the clan in his task. But of all of them, Munen was the most stoic, stern and zealous. 

“You abandoned the clan when we most needed a leader.” Munen continued. “You gave up everything your forefathers and ancestors fought for. When Overwatch dismantled our activities, the Elders did everything they could to preserve what needed to be preserved. The Shimada Empire no longer exists, but its vestiges remain, thanks to us. You should be grateful for what we have achieved.” 

Munen's hands clasped on his cane and Hanzo confronted the old man's accusing eyes without answering him. A few seconds passed before his old teacher sighed long and tired. 

“I'll help you." he said halfway, “in memory of Sojiro.” 

“How merciful you are.” 

His provocation displeases the old man. He didn't show it, but Munen was annoyed. He abhorred insolence and Hanzo remembered his punishments as a child. 

“I'd be curious to know what you've done in your years of wandering.” Munen asked inquisitively. “especially what you would have done to gain a bounty on your head.” 

Hanzo moved beyond the old man's chair to the marble table and looked at the bottles of liquor there. Munen had a good collection of Japanese whiskeys, and Hanzo served himself without restraint. 

“As you said, I have wandered for a long time and put my skills to work for the highest bidder.” 

“Mercenary work is unworthy of a Shimada.” Munen whistled as he retrieved his glass from the table to take another sip. 

“Still, a man must eat well. 

“And yet you come to me for help when your life is in danger. A man who wishes to live by the sword must expect to perish by the sword. That was not what we expected of you when we trained you. More importantly, we thought you were not a coward.” 

Hanzo ignored this taunt. The old man had a sharp tongue, and all he had left was his venom as his sole defence. 

“It's not too late to get back on the right path though, Hanzo.” Munen said imperiously. “You can still claim your rightful place. You can count on me to help you, just as I did in the past, and you can finally fulfill Sojiro's will and restore the honor of the Shimada clan.” 

The thought crossed his mind. He remembered his father and his stories of legendary warriors deserving all honours. Brave and harmless heroes whose actions were always guided by their sense of duty and justice. His brother loved the legends their father told them. As Hanzo grew up, he realized that such role models were an impossible ideal to achieve. When faced with this choice, had he fulfilled his duty? Did it finally preserve the honor of his clan? Events had proved him wrong, but now he was determined to take justice into his own hands. 

“I made my decision long ago.” Hanzo replied. “There's no need to look at the past.” 

The archer was surprised to see a scowl of disdain on Munen's face. 

“You are free to remain bound by your certainties.” he weighed as he rose from his seat. 

Hanzo watched him move with difficulty and mechanically headed towards his room, turning his back on him. 

“Now leave me alone.” the old man ordered. “It's already too late and I need to rest. Come back tomorrow and we'll talk about how to solve your problem.” 

Before he took another step, Hanzo stopped him, laying a firm hand on Munen's bony shoulder. 

“I'm not done yet.” 

The old man didn't flinch and swept the archer's hand from his shoulder before turning around to stare at him with his dark eyes. Munen's mouth twisted into a challenging pout. 

“Well?" he whistled between his teeth. “What are you waiting for? Say what you have to say and spare me your impudence. Springs are far too precious to me now to waste my time with you, and you've lived through far too much of them to continue playing the role of the arrogant young rooster. In fact, that role was much more your brother's to play.” 

So now it was the old man's turn to provoke him and feeling a deafening anger rising inside him, Hanzo knew it had worked. Yet he had to control himself and remain in a position of strength. He had the advantage and had to keep it. 

“I didn't just come here to hide. I've managed to track down those assassins and I think you'd better listen to what I've discovered.” 

Munen's face frowning and he kept glaring at Hanzo until he detached himself from the archer. 

“So.” he moaned as he returned to his chair. “Let's hear it.” 

Munen settled down and put his palms on his cane, attentive and all ears. His face, damaged by the years, had regained its proud features while his smug eyes never left him. Now that he had the Elder's full attention, Hanzo considered making the pleasure last. 

“Before we continue, allow me to have some refreshment. My throat is dry again.” 

As he walked past the owner of the apartment to reach the table and the precious bottles, he thought he heard an annoying sigh from Munen's lips. Nevertheless, he quickly filled his glass to return to the old man. He wanted to keep an eye on him and was afraid that the old monkey might still have a trick up his sleeve. 

“I couldn't find the backer, but I was able to trace it back to an intermediary.” Hanzo began. “Not for the first assassin, unfortunately. He bled to death long before I could question him. For the two omnics, I was much luckier. A human can forget, but not a machine, and the memory of the omnics led me to an unsavory individual in Macau. A professional man like you've seen hundreds of them before: discreet, organized and sociable. The kind of individual who, for every request, creates a hundred offers, and for every question has all the answers within reach. And this man was very talkative. He had been asked to find someone competent enough to assassinate me, and on two occasions he had succeeded in finding perfect candidates. At least that's what he thought. » 

The archer stopped for a few seconds to take a sip of whiskey. As in kabuki, you always had to work on your effects, and Hanzo enjoyed it. 

“He redirected me to the owner of several nightclubs in Macau. A notable person prized by the city's golden youth for his drunken parties and revered by the most abject criminals for being the biggest human trafficker of the region. While following his trail, I was able to realize how diverse the activities of this man were: drug trafficking, arms trafficking, organ trafficking, omnic trafficking, pimping, fencing stolen goods. The man's name was Fen Tǔ. Did you ever hear of him?” 

Munen stared at him with his dark eyes. Hanzo gave the old man a few seconds to answer, but the Elder remained silent so he resumed his story: 

“I questioned this Fen Tǔ for a long time, and he admitted that he was just a subordinate in a larger organization and that the order to assassinate me came not from him but from much above. I would have liked to get him to confess the name of the backer, but like a good and loyal dog, he did not give in. Nevertheless, with what he had told me, I was able to continue my research. Because you see, a man like this Fèn Tǔ, considering his numerous activities, had to collect large sums of money that he had of course to reinvest in activities far more ... clean. These are the basics for anyone wishing to form a criminal organization. I'm not gonna teach that to you. So all profits from his activities were redistributed or placed in shell companies or reinvested. He bought bars, restaurants, discos all along the coast from the South China Sea to the Gulf of Thailand, as well as buildings and housing in Vietnam and Cambodia. And most of the profits from his legal activities, in addition to his other improper income, he reinvested them in import-export companies in Kuala Lumpur, Malacca and right here in Singapore.” 

Hanzo finished his glass in a single stroke and placed it on the pedestal table where the statue of the intertwined dragons appeared more distinctly to him, illuminated by the light of the living room. It reminded him of a story his father used to tell him: the myth of two dragons, two brothers. He let the thought wander, preferring to focus on the reason why he was here. 

“In Kuala Lumpur, as in Malacca, I tried to find out who was behind these businesses. And after consulting the registers of all those companies, I was able to link them to four bank accounts scattered in several cities in Asia, Africa and Europe. One of them is in London, another in Numbani, and the last two are in Tokyo and Singapore respectively. I preferred to focus on the banks within my reach: Tokyo and Singapore. You'd be surprised how easy it is to bypass bank security, whether it's to get in or to access their computer systems. It's mainly a matter of using the right tools and I still have some contacts in the Tokyo mob. And many of them owe me favors.” 

Hanzo had just crossed the room back and forth and Munen's silence was getting heavier and heavier. Had the old man died of boredom? 

“From the Tokyo bank account, I learned that the owner of that account had huge resources and put them to good use. I was able to find transactions linked to import-export companies as well as handling and service companies, probably other decoys to launder his dirty money. He had purchased several residences around the world: an apartment in New York, another in Paris and Numbani, and a last one recently bought in Singapore. With those details, it was not difficult to identify and find the addresses of these apartments. And I have to admit that this man is not a common criminal who shows off his wealth, because despite his means, the properties he bought were not really high-end, but rather housing accessible to the newly rich or to young businessmen. It's clever, so he doesn't draw too much attention around him. And the more discreet he stays, the less likely he is to draw attention to his business. After that, I arrived in Singapore exactly two days ago. I broke into the bank and was able to inspect his account information to see similar exchanges and transactions. I had no choice but to visit his flat in order to investigate. So I went there hoping to find answers to my questions, one of which I couldn't get out of my mind.” 

Hanzo had returned to Munen and the archer looked into the pupils of his former teacher. 

“Why did you order my assassination, Munen?” 

The old man didn't flinch. Was he frightened to death? Was he terrified? No, and that was part of his exasperation. Munen was always silent, defiant and inflexible. Yet he hadn't defended himself, letting Hanzo speak and speak, as if it didn't matter anymore. His silence confirmed his involvement and only added to Hanzo's irritation. He hoped the old man wouldn't lower himself to answering with poor lies. Finally, a grin appeared at the corners of Munen's lips. 

“It's reassuring to see that you haven't forgotten what we taught you.” 

“Answer my question.” 

Munen wiggled in his chair, putting his cane on his lap. 

“I've never hidden my reasons from you.” he explained. “You disgraced the Shimada clan, destroying everything the Council of Elders had built...” 

“It was my father's Empire. Not yours.” 

“But we're the ones who preserved it.” Munen replied, hitting the ground with his cane. “We rebuilt it almost from scratch while you were grieving.” 

“You mean you shared it like scavengers.” Hanzo added as he walked away from the old man. “And how did you rebuild it? By associating with filthy people like that Fen Tǔ? My father would never have allowed this, he wouldn't have collaborated with scum like them.” 

“But Sojiro is no more, and his heir wasn't up to the task of succeeding him, despite all the hopes he had for him. The Council of Elders has made the right decisions to keep the clan going and under no circumstances will we let you get back what you deliberately gave up. You have lost all rights to this legacy.” 

The old man was adamant about it and that angered him. 

“You've made that clear enough! I hacked into your computer and I was able to retrieve your several conversations with the other members of the Council. What's left of them, anyway. You didn't hesitate to eliminate your rivals among the Ancients to better divide the remains with the rest. And I was one of the targets to be disposed of, and to prove your good faith, you decided to take care of it personally and yet you didn't get your hands dirty. For a man who judges so much by honor, you are terribly despicable.” 

Munen remained insensitive to this umpteenth provocation as Hanzo arrived behind one of the couches in the living room. He glanced at the statue of the dragons and saw their eyes glowing red. 

“The Council has always been able to take the right decisions for the sake of the clan and has always fully assumed them. Unlike you, who is unable to face the consequences of your actions. It seems we were wrong. That we placed our hopes into the wrong brother. Over the years, I have come to realize that Genji would have made a better leader for ...” 

Hanzo wouldn't let him finish his sentence. He'd just retrieved his bow hidden under the couch. The archer watched the old man's face react to the arrow he'd just shot in his shoulder. His challenging look turned into a facade of bitter surprise, which fully gratified Hanzo. 

“Don't you dare speak his name.” he whistled in his teeth. 

Dropping his cane, Munen brought his spare arm to the arrow to try to free himself, but it had sunk too deep into his flesh, and into the armchair. He was panting, his lips were trembling. 

“That's ... exactly what I was saying.” the old man gasped for breath. “Unable to face his own decisions. You killed your brother, but you didn't have the strength to bear such a burden.” 

Hanzo approached him with a notched arrow in his bow. The masquerade was over and Munen knew it. 

“You made me take sanctions against my brother because you were afraid he'd turn against the clan, Hanzo claimed. You wanted him to disappear and I was foolish enough to walk your path.” 

Munen was sweating heavily. A broad smile appeared on his painfully disfigured features. 

“Is that what you think?” he said, letting out a clear sneer. “We are not the ones who struck the final blow. You're the one to blame. I was told that your work on your brother was not swordsmanship but butchery. What did Genji told you to make him earn such painful death?” 

A second arrow pierced his forearm, nailing him to the armrest. 

“I warned you not to speak his name.” 

Tears appeared at the corners of Munen's eyes as he continued to smile. 

“You've fallen even lower than I thought.” he answered. My death will bring you no good. My ghost will pursue you, along with those of Genji and Sojiro.” 

A third arrow went through the old man's groin and he choked a screaming pain. It took a few seconds for a red tint to appear on the seat of the armchair, which soon sank to his feet. 

“My brother and father are my burden. But you're not.” Hanzo replied, lowering himself to Munen's level. “I must live with the wrongs from my past, but there's no way I'll allow the Elders to reap the benefits of the Shimada's heritage. If I haven't dignified my father as a clan leader, then I must at least do him justice by not leaving his legacy in the hands of dogs such as you.” 

Now it was Munen's entire body that was trembling. The fingers of his arm, nailed to the armrest of the chair, were twisting. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his smile evaporated into an angry pout. The old man looked around him, watching the elevator doors, as if he was expecting someone to appear. 

“No one's gonna save you. I've shut down the security systems. I've seen you repeatedly press a hidden button on your cane, but your men won't come. You die tonight, Munen.” 

“That's how you intend to get away with it?” Munen grumbled. “You're nothing... A lost cause! There's no hope for you anymore. You don't deserve this legacy.” 

“I've already emptied your accounts, Hanzo said. Your computer had all the necessary data and thanks to my cracking tools, I was able to do it with joy. I also had access to a lot of incriminating information that could put your organization in trouble if the authorities got their hands on it.” 

Munen's mouth tensed with pain and rage, but while Hanzo hoped that this would give him some satisfaction, it didn't. His hunt had been long and tiresome, and in the process, he had imagined that he would find the person who had commissioned the bounty on his head and make him pay for it. Finding out that it was an Elder of the Shimada clan, a former teacher, had made it bitter, but it had strengthened his resolve. 

“No one will benefit from your legacy, Munen. I'll personally take care of it.” 

His anger had subsided to give way to deep indifference. Now that he had reached the end of his settlement with the old man, he didn't feel fully content. Continuing the torment would not change anything. In any case, he was done with it. 

“The other Elders... They'll find out it was you.” Munen stammered as a trickle of blood dripped from the corners of her lips. “They'll send other assassins to hunt you down, and in the end, all you've accomplished will have been for nothing... 

Hanzo moved away from the chair where Munen was dying to the penthouse window that opened onto the terrace. Attached to the handle of the bay was the zip-line cable that had allowed him to cross the street. 

“I'll find them first and they'll fall like you." Hanzo answered, throwing a last glance over his shoulder to his former teacher. 

The grotesque appearance of Munen's body, at death's door, slumped in his armchair was terribly pathetic. Hanzo was surprised to feel some regret at this sad picture. Things should have turned out differently. 

“Come back here!” Munen ordered, gathering his last strength, spitting blood on his tunic. Grant me an honorable death! If you still have any respect for me, come back and strike me down! 

In the past, Hanzo's principle was never to cause unnecessary harm. He remembered a lying body, pouring rain, a purple puddle of water and blood on his hands. Hanzo buried these thoughts deep inside him. He'd remained faithful to this principle until Genji. He wasn't going to give Munen such a privilege. 

“Real life isn't like the old stories you told us as children. Only honorable people deserve to die a swift and noble death. But we are not honorable men.” 

Hanzo gave Munen a last glance and his face froze, then his head collapsed on his shoulder to stay still. The archer wrapped the cable around his hand and grabbed it firmly, then he took a run-up and jumped into the air to reach the roofs of the other buildings below. Then he vanished into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the 4th chapter of this fiction which came out quite fast and I'm not unhappy to be able to bring it to you so quickly. It's a chapter that I've had in mind for a very long time and it allows me to breathe a little. 
> 
> The chapters by Jack, Winston and Angela had this nostalgic tone with Overwatch, so we could see a bit of the same pattern and let's say that this chapter 4 allows me to break the mould a little bit. 
> 
> Hanzo is a really interesting character. He's proud, melancholic and imperturbable at the same time. I really enjoyed writing about him, just like I'm really looking forward to Genji. The dynamic of the Shimada brothers is really captivating and I hope we'll see more of it in Overwatch 2. Fingers crossed. 
> 
> For the next character, I've put that character aside for too long and favored Hanzo and Angela before her. But I plan to make up for that with Chapter 5, which I hope you'll like just as much. 
> 
> Thanks to Etsukazu for his rereading and his advice and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. In any case, do not hesitate to leave me your opinion or a comment, it has a euphoric effect on the author. 
> 
> Take care and see you soon for the following!


	5. Lena

**LENA**

As she loosened the straps on the chronal accelerator, she felt herself breathing again. Lena sighed for a long time and then stretched as much as she could in such a small space. If she tried to move backwards, she would get stuck by the toilet bowl and on either side by the walls that separated her from the other toilets. She massaged her shoulders as well as her chest, which was suffering from the pressure of the device she had to wear all the time. Lena took advantage of this little moment of respite to sit on the toilet seat. It was going to be a long evening. According to her, it had already gone far too long.

Lena leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt terribly tired, totally discouraged and yet she knew she had to go back in less than a minute. Her only hope was that the evening would end quickly. Lena readjusted the straps of the chronal accelerator to prevent her chest from being crushed under the layer of clothes. She retrieved the white shirt that she had pinned to the hook of the toilet door and put it over her undershirt and the chronal accelerator. She just fastened a few buttons to avoid feeling tight and then Lena took the protective vest at her feet. On the back of the vest was embroidered an insert with a black H and a yellow S on it. With the back of her hand she took the dirt off the vest and put it over her head. Lena walked out of the toilets by tightening the straps of the vest and looked into the large mirror above the washbasin row.

Lena huffed and puffed in frustration. She looked utterly ridiculous with this vest and shirt that doubled the size of her breasts. Yet she had asked to keep the chronal accelerator above her work clothes. But her superiors had refused outright, believing that the employees' dress and equipment should be the same for everyone, and Lena had to accept this. She approached the sink and sprayed her face with water. She rubbed her eyelids, hoping that the fatigue would disappear, and observed her reflection.

“Come on, you've dealt with far worse. You totally handle it.”

She blew on a lock of hair that fell on her right eye, and at the same time, another person came out of one of the toilets. Lena saw the woman's suspicious look in the mirror reflection, then immediately she dried her hands and walked out of the bathroom, before it was noticed that her cheeks had turned red.

As she emerged from the women's bathroom, she was challenged by a familiar voice:

“What took you so long, Lena?”

“Guess what? I fell in the toilet.”

“Thank God you made it back up. I really couldn't see myself explaining it to Donovan

The guy who was waiting for her against the wall was wearing the same uniform, except unlike her, his vest fit him like a glove. The young man seemed to enjoy playing it, as he placed his hands under his vest to appear more physically fit.

“I'm sure he wished I had drowned in the basin.”

“Don't be so negative" replied the man. “I would have come to save you. Cheers, love! The plumbing's here!

Faced with the ridiculous pose her colleague had just taken, Lena couldn't help but giggle and a smile appeared on her face.

“You're so dumb, Craig.”

“Why do all the girls tell me that?”

Lena and Craig walked down a long white corridor at a fast pace to reach a large gallery where on either side were several paintings and works that Lena would have described as contemporary, although she was not very well versed in the field of art. There were paintings made up of simple coloured patches on black or white canvas, other works were collections of motifs and shapes in a complete shamble. Placed on pedestals, she saw dark, worn-out sculptures with long limbs that reminded her of the meagre legs of spiders. From a certain angle, the statues reminded her of bodies writhing in pain.

“These things scare the shit out of me.” Craig told her as they passed the largest statue.

Lena nodded without adding anything. As much as she appreciated some of the paintings hanging on the walls, she didn't see the interest and appeal of these sculptures, probably straight out of the mind of a tormented artist. A whole section of contemporary art has no other object than art itself. She clearly remembered this quote, but she could not remember where she had heard it. Perhaps it was Emily who had once told her? She was the kind of person who could find suitable quotes for every kind of situation.

At the end of the corridor they reached a large room, their destination in fact. While Lena didn't have an eye for the creations on display here, she was nevertheless wondering about the artistic relevance of the work presented in this wing of the museum.

In the middle of the room was a gigantic sphere floating and pivoting on itself, illuminated by spotlights located at the four corners of the room and at its base. From far enough away, it would have been easy to mistake and confuse this sphere as a large ball of metal and iron, but if one approached it, one could see that there were irregularities in its outline. The sphere, which rose up to the ceiling of the hall, was not uniform and smooth, but was made up of a heap of irregular and deformed pieces that made the whole thing not quite harmonious. Yet this was not the most repulsive part of the piece, in Lena's eyes.

The pieces and metals needed to create this piece had been gathered around the globe on former battlefields of the Omnic Crisis. But it was not a junk shop of mechanical machines, tanks, planes, and weapons of all kinds. It was a matter of carcasses, bodies of omnics gleaned here and there and assembled into a huge mass grave that now floated before all eyes in one of the greatest modern art museums in the world.

“Where are Locke and Monroe?" Craig wondered. “They were supposed to wait until we came back.”

“As usual, they just went about their business. Let's hurry up before Donovan gets back.”

They returned to their respective positions: he at the entrance to the showroom and she on the opposite side of the room, close to the long table where a man dressed in an impeccable black suit served champagne in countless rows of toasting flutes. The artwork separated the two of them and the angle from which they could see each other was very narrow. In any case, this work of art was a real eye-catcher.

Within the sculpture made from omnics' remains, Lena had been able to recognize several models she had once fought against. She could see the foot of an OR-14 unit protruding from a corner of the assembly. Further on, she saw the head of a B73 siege automaton and a few meters away from it, the weapon arm of an E54 Bastion. As the sphere pivoted, Lena thought she saw the wings of an omnic combat jet and the barrel of a spider tank, which she had only seen in holo-images. These metal carcasses were weapons of war. Lena had neutralized many of them on numerous missions under the aegis of Overwatch. At that time, she didn't think much about whether she should consider the enemy camp as sentient beings. The omnics had acted as a single entity driven by a relentless, inhuman ferocity in their quest for extermination.

During the Omnic Crisis, it was often said that one should not trust the omnics. That we should not believe their lies, that they would ape humans, try to imitate them, to better deceive them and lead them to their ruin. As a child, Lena had received a lot of such warnings from adults who wanted to warn her of a threat she would sooner or later encounter. She had had her own preconceptions, but as she grew up she had made up her own mind. She had met conscious omnics with free will, trying to coexist with humans, and she had faced mechanical units, devoid of any will of their own, programmed to kill people. The former were human-like, their appearance and manner was similar to people, while the latter were merely war machines. The borderline might be fine for some, but to Lena, that was really the difference.

So, while in the middle of the war machines immortalized in the sculpture, she saw mostly humanoid omnics similar to those she could meet on the streets, she could not help but feel a deep sense of dismay.

Lena was brought back to reality by the guests who had just entered the exhibition room, preceded by museum employees. Amused, she was able to spot Craig greeting them with reverence and lightness, accompanied by his most beautiful smile. The young man's face seemed to attract the favors of the people who greeted him back. _He would be better suited as a host_ , Lena thought, _he was not like a security guard._ Yet, compared to the other members of the team, his angel face made him unique in his own right. When you worked in security, you could expect to find colossal henchmen or gigantic bullies, but there were exceptions. She and Craig seemed to be one of those exceptions.

“Ngyuen, Oxton. Are you in position?”

Before she could even answer her earpiece, Craig got there first:

“We're in position, the guests have just arrived. The room is slowly filling up.”

“I'll join you soon.” replied Donovan, whose voice was as clear and unemotional as ever.

The guests began to walk through the exhibition room, circling around the sculpture to discern all the details. This would mainly concern the art afficionados, lovers of new styles and trends, as another part of the guests had gone to the buffet to sack the champagne, the nibbles and the refined pastries.

The entire London elite seemed to be at the party. Lena saw a flock of men of all ages, dressed in light cabans or loose-fitting jackets, and women wearing tight dresses or puffy tunics that must have been at the peak of fashion. They seemed not to notice her, despite a few glances here and there, obsessed by their conversations and impressions of the piece. Lena scanned the audience for anything suspicious, but apart from a few giggles and bursts of voice, everything seemed normal. The guests, who had now had their fill and drink, were gradually gathering around the sphere, admiring the work from every angle.

Lena observed the audience and their reactions. Some watched it with their faces closed, others were fascinated and never took their eyes off the sculpture, letting themselves be rocked by the slow rotation of the sphere while fingers rose to point out details in the omnic cluster. In turn, Lena looked up at the metal sculpture to see new and disheartening details: omnics' legs and arms crossed over each other, torsos with severed limbs and inert heads embedded in the surface of the sphere. How many omnics had been required to create this sculpture?

It was at this precise moment that a commotion ran through the assembly and with a simple glance at the entrance of the room, Lena understood why: the artist had just arrived. Leane Talbot, better known under her pseudonym LeTal, entered the exhibition hall under the applause of the guests who moved aside in order to create a passage for her. Lena had already seen this woman on news channels and in holonet articles. She was portrayed as an extravagant and controversial artist whose work had been the subject of many scandals and intense debate.

Her admirers considered her to be innovative, ingenious and provocative, while her critics argued that she had a provocative side, but that it was her only asset and that she knew how to play it. This work of art, made up of the remains of omnics, did not make its way to the Tate Modern Museum in London by chance. LeTal had initially intended to exhibit it at the Modern Art Museum in Paris but was refused for ethical reasons. The Guggenheim in New York and the Palazzo Grassi in Venice had also rejected her request and the sculpture finally found its place at the Tate Modern, for better or for worse.

LeTal, dressed in a long see-through plastic coat over a dark camisole dress, shook her thick red hair and greeted the crowd. She sent kisses that pinched her lips, highlighted with purple lip gloss. She made her way among the crowd, kissing the guests she recognized and shaking hands with the most notable personalities. Lena saw that she was enjoying every second of her moment of glory. Behind the cheerful features of the artist, she saw the stern and hard faces of her security service and her team leader: Donovan Moore. She saw him approaching Craig and exchanging a few words with him. The young man nodded and followed him as a member of LeTal's close team took his place. Donovan and Craig walked around the room, avoiding the crowd, and then joined her.

“Nothing to report, Oxton?” he asked.

“No, sir." she answered without prevarication.

“Perfect.”

Donovan was a man in his fifties with a rough face, deep, cold eyes and a square jaw, typical of this kind of profession. He was also massive in stature and muscle, and his safety uniform only reinforced that feeling. At his side, Lena and Craig looked like twigs.

“I sent Locke and Monroe to the entrance to help Davis.” explained Donovan as he stood beside Lena to observe the room, immediately mimicked by Craig.

“How are things at the museum entrance?” asked Lena.

“Everything is under control. The police have been warned and are already on the spot.”

Donovan didn't bother with the details. As a team leader at Helix Security for years, it was his way of leading and Lena didn't like his approach. Was it because he felt that, as a leader, he was the only one who had to have all the important and essential information in order to make the right decisions; and that his subordinates had to obey him in complete trust? Unless, as Lena thought, he trusted no one but himself. In the past, she had already expressed her disagreement with Donovan's methods. Donovan had taken it very badly at the time, and he had been watching her with defiance ever since. To tell the truth, they didn't really have chemistry: he was austere and uncompromising, Lena was friendly and accommodating. In order to avoid future disappointments with him, she had kept to the role of a good subordinate who did not insist or question orders. And that weighed on her from day to day.

Right in the middle of the showroom, LeTal continued to interact with the crowd under the watchful eye of its personal security department and Helix employees. Donovan, Craig and Lena stayed for several minutes to observe the festivities until silence fell in the showroom. The man who appeared to be the museum administrator handed a microphone to the artist and her voice echoed through the room:

“ _Thank you all! Thank you all! It is with immense honor that I welcome you here in this prestigious Tate Modern in our beautiful city of London for my new exhibition whose flagship work is right in front of your eyes: the Ironheart. A controversial work, but you know as well as I do, great pieces of art are always controversial, aren't they? Ha ha ha ha ...”_

As the room left in a great burst of laughter, Lena, piqued by curiosity, turned to her two colleagues:

“What do you think of this work?”

She saw Craig raise an eyebrow as he stared at her while Donovan had mechanically rotated his head, as if he wasn't sure if she had spoken to him.

“Well...” Craig said, scratching the few hairs that made up his goatee. “I can hardly see the point.”

“Art is not meant to be interesting." Donovan replied curtly.

Intrigued by the artistic positions of her team leader, Lena continued:

“Do you think it's... beautiful? Aesthetic?”

The two men took their time before answering, looking more closely at the sphere.

“I wouldn't put that in my living room.” Craig replied.

“Seriously.” Lena insisted. “What do you think about it?”

“. _.. generous patrons who have allowed me to expose my work. In addition, I would like to inform you that for those who appreciate this exhibition, I have created personalised models - smaller ones of course - which you can acquire by consulting the catalogues located at the exit of the show. I sincerely hope that you will find something that will catch your eye..._ ”

“It's not really something that I like.” replied Craig.

“It's rather rough.” Donovan said bluntly. “If this huge metal thing is a masterpiece then my scrap dealer grandfather was one of the greatest artists of our time.”

The sphere rotated again and Lena thought she saw two humanoid omnics glued together who seemed to be kissing, unless it was a frightening embrace, as if they had been caught and frozen like that.

“I find it creepy and ... disturbing.” she confessed in a voice low enough for only her colleagues to hear her. “If the omnics had won the war, do you think they would have turned human mass graves into pieces of art for everyone to see?”

The grimace on Craig's face indicated to the young woman that her colleague had just visualised this possibility and that she was not pleasant. Her boss remained impassive and yet it was her reaction that Lena was expecting.

“Seen from that angle.” Craig said, scratching his head. “I understand better what's going on outside...”

“We are here to ensure the guests' safety” Donovan replied curtly. “not to discuss the relevance of this exhibition.”

“However, if the museum had refused to exhibit this ... "thing".” Lena argued. “they wouldn't have needed to increase their security and we wouldn't be here.”

The icy blue pupils flashed lightning bolts at the young woman with her glib tongue.

“But it is not the case. This piece of art is here to stay and we have a job to do. Our job is to ensure the security of the exhibition guests, no matter what the circumstances, and the work on display. Have I made myself clear, Oxton?”

Because of her military experience, Lena knew when to keep quiet and when to nod in agreement depending on which superior you were dealing with. Some people appreciated a few rare touches of insolence and boldness on the part of their subordinates as long as it didn't interfere with the proper conduct of operations, while others wanted uncompromising obedience. With Donovan, Lena knew who she was dealing with.

“Perfectly.”

“Woe to the vanquished”. Donovan declared without any real conviction. “That's how it works. And to tell the truth, I prefer it to be them rather than us. I would have thought that a former member of Overwatch would have understood that...”

Lena would have liked to reply, but she swallowed her pride and kept silent to avoid getting into further trouble with her superior. Like Craig, who pretended he hadn't seen or heard anything of their exchange.

“ _... that's why I would like to thank you again for being here in such great numbers! Sorry, I keep repeating myself. Enjoy the exhibition and the evening! As for interested buyers, you know where to find me, ha ha!_ ”

LeTal's speech ended under the guests' cheers and the hubbub of the crowd, which had resumed its discussions and was beginning to disperse throughout the room. Donovan, under the pretext of an adjustment with the artist's security service, left Lena and Craig as the guests gathered around the buffet table.

“It's always the worst seat, the one next to the buffet.” Craig whispered as he looked greedily at the table nearby. “Do you think we can take some?”

Lena wouldn't have tried it, fearing Donovan's reprimands, but she nevertheless felt her legs go numb from standing still. She would have allowed herself a few steps in the room if her team leader hadn't been there.

“You can try. But don't get caught.”

“Shall I get you something?”

Craig's squinted eyes revealed a bit of mischief in his eyes. Lena would have liked to smile but something was tying up her stomach. The young woman didn't try to find out why, as this sphere of omnic bodies swivelled in front of her. She simply replied:

“No, thank you, I'm not hungry.”

Craig quickly made his way through the crowd to the buffet table, leaving the young woman alone with her thoughts. Her shoulders hurt again and she dreamed of the moment when she could finally take off that uniform and protective waistcoat. Massaging her shoulders, hoping not to be noticed, she sighed with boredom. In the middle of the London gratin, she felt completely out of place.

Around her, Lena saw women in sumptuous dresses, wearing richly coloured finery, on the arms of men whose impeccable suits all seemed to have come from the same factory. One man nearly choked when he saw that another, partially drunk, had inadvertently spilled part of his champagne cup on his jacket. The latter expressed his displeasure, giving the designer's name who had made this piece of costume for him, while the second shrugged his shoulders and went to the sideboard to restock with champagne. The other guests stared at the drunkard and then resumed their conversations about upcoming fashion shows, sports cars or future social events.

Lena was able to hear exchanges on politics, economics and finance, but only a few small bits of discussion. In any case, it was not her world at all, and she didn't see what she would have had to say with these people. Since she had joined Helix Security, she had been able to bathe in the midst of the wealthy without ever feeling at ease there. She had been sent with her team to secure weddings of rich heirs, garden parties and brunches. And it bored her to the bone to be a simple security guard for the best of the English elite.

Overwatch had been dissolved more than a year ago now and Lena had fond memories of her few years with the organisation and the friendships she had formed. However, she had lost sight of everyone. Because of the destruction of the headquarters and the disappearance of their superiors, the separations of the remaining members had not been auspicious. Torbjörn and Angela had taken different paths: he had retired and she had returned to the field as a doctor. Lena remembered that Angela Ziegler's hearing at the United Nations had affected her deeply. She sobbed in front of her TV and found comfort only in Emily's arms. Lena had managed to exchange a few messages with Angela, but the doctor was always on the move, in theatres of war or in disaster areas, and their exchanges had become rare. Lena had come to the conclusion that Dr. Ziegler probably had more important things to do than to respond to her messages.

Others had simply disappeared. Lena thought of Winston. The last time she had seen her friend was shortly before she returned to the UK. She knew he had nowhere else to go, but when she asked him what he had planned, the scientist had simply put his glasses back on his nose and told her that he had been approached by a research laboratory that wanted to hire him. Lena did not insist then, which she later deeply regretted. Weeks afterwards, she tried to find out about Winston, his new workplace and his research to contact him, but he had simply vanished into thin air. At first, Lena felt hurt by her friend's lie, but in time she came to understand that Winston had only known Overwatch and its disappearance had affected him as much as anyone else. Even though she didn't know where he was, Lena often kept thinking about him. The only thing that reassured her was that he was strong and smart enough to handle it on his own. In any case, at this moment he was probably in a better place than she was.

Lena readjusted her protective waistcoat while Craig joined her while trying to cover his chewing.

“You should try the pastries while there's still some left-over." he mumbled. “They're amazing.”

“Be cautious.” Lena warned him. “you have some on your chin.”

“Oh ... thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Luckily Craig was there, he brought a certain dose of that primordial lightness to Lena's long working days. Even if he was a bit annoying at times, she enjoyed his company during their assignments. He was the only one in the team that she got along with.

“Hey, I know you!”

Lena choked a cry of surprise. The drunken guest from earlier had just stood in front of her, eyes wide open and cheeks rosy, with obviously a champagne glass in his hand.

“My little brother has figurines and posters of you in his room.” said the young man, pointing at Lena, who could no longer hide.

“You must be mistaken, sir.” she replied calmly, while her own cheeks blushed, which had nothing to do with the drink, unlike her interlocutor.

The latter wrinkled his eyes to examine her attentively while taking a sip of champagne. At a glance, Lena cast a dark look at Craig who seemed to be enjoying the situation. Some of the surrounding guests were staring in their direction.

“Didn't you have any little guns?” asked the inebriated man as he mimicked guns with both hands, spilling the contents of his glass behind his back.

Lena just nodded her head, trying to show an impassive look but the red on her cheeks betrayed her. It was then that Craig tried to come to her rescue:

“I think you've got the wrong person, sir. Now please let us do our job.”

“Oh, but you're Tracer!” cried a woman in a scarlet dress who joined in the conversation.

“Yes! That's it! Tracer from Overwatch!” the drunken man added.

Under the worried gaze of the others, the tipsy man pretended to shoot bullets with his hands, taking ridiculous poses that Lena avoided looking at.

“My son used to watch your cartoon every Saturday morning.” explained the woman with a cheerful smile. “He adored you and ran around the living room just like you in the cartoon. The maids couldn't stop him.”

“The cavalry is here! That's what you said!”

“I've also seen you on holovideos. You look taller on the holos, when in reality you're quite small.”

Lena couldn't hide her annoyed pout while the woman in the red dress was laughing heartily. Around them, some guests had approached to listen and she understood that the situation was getting out of hand. If she wanted to, she could escape from the room in a matter of seconds, but it would only get her in more trouble.

“Can you sign an autograph for me?” asked the drunkard, bringing a paper napkin from the buffet table. “For my brother?”

“I don't have a pen.” Lena answered mechanically.

“Darling, please come here.”" said the woman in red. “I'd like an autograph, too. Don't you have any photos on you for signing autographs? Darling, paper and pen, hurry up!”

Before she could even realize it, a small group of guests had gathered around her. Lena was assailed by a dozen questions and requests. Even Craig had faded away in front of the mass that was beginning to form around the young woman. Lena looked at him with eyes that shouted an unequivocal "Help" as different voices called out to her:

“You saved my mother during the Null Sector's uprising, thank you infinitely!

“Can you sign for William? It's for my husband, a big fan.”

“Yes, yes... Thank you.” replied Lena as she juggled between the different pens and holders that were handed to her. “Just give me two seconds ...”

“A picture please!” cried two young girls who flanked Lena to do a selfie before leaving in a blink of an eye.

“I don't know who you are, miss.” said an old man. “but I'd like an autograph anyway.”

“What do you do now that Overwatch has been dismantled?”

“Well... I ... am ...”

“You are working as a security guard?”

“Do you make birthday parties? It would be for my daughter Cara; she turns twelve in a couple of weeks. Would you be available?”

“Can I ask what's going on here?”

As soon as she heard this voice, Lena knew it was trouble. Donovan had just separated two people to come directly to his subordinate. Someone tore the paper and pen out of her hands as she confronted the dark gaze of her superior.

“Please leave this agent alone and get back to your activities, ladies and gentlemen.” Donovan ordered in an authoritative tone.

The guests huddled around Lena obeyed, some with their dedications and others not. Nevertheless, one of the guests managed to slip a card into her pocket and whisper in her ear:

“Call me for the birthday.”

Lena didn't even give him a glance, her sole focus was on Donovan, whose face seemed to be tensing up from second to second.

“Nguyen, stay here.” he said. “Oxton, follow me.”

Craig nodded silently and Lena executed herself without flinching as she walked in Donovan's footsteps. They avoided the crowd of guests who had once again turned their attention to the metal sphere. New gatherings had formed around the viewing tablets where visitors could consult the artist's catalogue and make their small orders. As they passed, Lena managed to catch a few glimpses from the attendees, some of them whispering, others seemed simply indifferent, but nevertheless she thought she heard a few clicks of guests' holomobiles who wanted to have, at least, just a picture of her. Lena tried not to think about it, she had other problems to deal with.

Donovan took her out of the showroom, into a corner where they wouldn't be seen by the guests.

“What did I say last time about this kind of incident?”

“I couldn't do anything, he recognised me immediately.” Lena defended herself.

“My last warning wasn't enough?” replied Donovan, pointing his finger at himself. “I have a team to lead and I don't have time for you and your little fanclub.”

“That's not what I wanted,” Lena replied sharply. “I told them they had the wrong person! Do you think that pleases me?”

Donovan sighed in annoyance as he rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

“Look, I won't allow this to happen again. Your presence is disrupting our work and I won't allow it to affect the team. If you can't go unnoticed in the field then I'll ask Helix to find you a position in the paperwork, then we won't have any celebrity issues to deal with within the team.”

“Put me in a hood or put me in a spot where no one will recognise me.” said Lena. “but keep me in the field, boss. That's where I want to be and you know my background!”

“I'm not going to repeat myself, I'm wasting my time trying...”

“Can you explain to me what just happened?” hissed a voice behind them.

It was at that very moment that something unexpected happened and this unexpected person was wearing a transparent plastic jacket, high heels and exhibited red hair.

“Can someone explain to me what just happened then?” protested LeTal, staring at Lena and Donovan successively.

Lena glimpsed Donovan's tense face transforming, in a few seconds, into a serene and confident face that he showed to the artist, his two goons and the curator who had just joined them.

“Everything is fine, Madam.” he replied in a slightly pompous tone. “It was only a small deviation; I can assure you that it will not happen again.”

“You still haven't told me what happened!” said angrily the artist. “I'm waiting!”

“It's my fault, Madam.” Lena cut off, drawing all the attention to herself.

“And who are you?” she wondered smugly, while scrutinising the young woman from every angle.

Even before she could answer, Donovan was quick to add:

“She's a former Overwatch agent. She was recognised by guests and that's what caused this slight agitation.”

“Oh yes, Tracer!” said the curator who had just had an epiphany. “Strange, I really didn't recognise you at first glance...”

“Because of the glasses," remarked one of the artist's bodyguards. “The orange visor, it's...”

He preferred not to conclude his sentence when he saw the lightning flashes from LeTal's eyes. Lena was nevertheless touched and gave a slightly embarrassed smile, which the artist noticed:

“I don't care if you're from this or that charity.” she replied curtly as she suddenly drew closer. “Do you know what I have sacrificed for this exhibition? All the work I've done? All the time I've waited? Everything had to be perfect tonight and you have just ruined it...”

“That was not my intention, Madam...” stammered Lena.

“Do you often sign autographs on exhibition evenings?” LeTal replied irritated. “But who do you think you are? It's my exhibition! My creation! My party!”

LeTal turned her head towards Donovan, who maintained his composure.

“You're her superior?” the artist whistled.

“Yes, Mrs. Talbot.”

“Lena saw the artist's index finger pointing at her, her fake red nail was dangerously close to her face.”

“I don't want to see her any more tonight! Find her a place where she won't outshine anyone. I can assure you that your superiors will hear about it!”

“Yes, Mrs. Talbot.”

On this final request, LeTal turned back and went to the exhibition hall followed by his two bodyguards. Even the sorry and compassionate look of the administrator was not enough to reassure Lena. He immediately returned to the exhibition, leaving her alone with her superior, who remained silent. If it had been a bad dream, Lena felt that it had gone on too long and that she should be able to wake up from it. She would have liked to wake up, in bed, in the middle of the night, next to Emily, but it wasn't a dream, it was real, and it will last.

Donovan was always undaunted and his cold eyes crossed Lena's brown pupils. He added nothing more and activated his earpiece:

“Locke, Monroe." she heard. “Change of programme, you're back in the exhibition hall. Oxton and Ngyuen will replace you at the entrance. Wait until they join you to move.”

“Copy that.”

“Roger!”

“Ngyuen," continued Donovan. "I'm with Oxton at the exit of the exhibition.

“Copy that, I'm on my way.”

Donovan released the pressure from his earpiece, while Lena remained mute, fearing the reprimands of her team leader.

“It's not over, Oxton.” he finally stated. “We'll talk about this again. In the meantime, you're a shadow, a silhouette, a ghost. I don't want to hear from you again unless it has something to do with our work here. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” she replied under her breath.

He didn't waste any more time and returned to the room, bumping into Craig who was joining them.

“What happened?” asked the young man.

“Nothing incredibly special.” Lena replied bitterly. “Let's get going, the further away from this room I am, the better off I'll be...”

“The artist seemed in a bad mood when she returned to the exhibition.”

Lena felt the resentment and the pain disappear, giving way to an anger that she needed to express.

“That hoity-toity bitch? No wonder ...”

“Uh ... can you explain to me what hoity-toity means?” Craig asked candidly.

“It means haughty, pretentious, smug! A snob! Is this really the first time you've heard of it?”

“Oh I see!”

Both walked quickly through the room, again passing the dark sculptures and the many other paintings in the museum.

“If you ask me,” Craig said bitingly, “there were plenty of others, hoity-toity bitches, in the exhibition hall.”

They continued their way from one wing of the museum to another, and finally made their way into the lobby of the Tate Modern where they could finally see what was rumbling outside. Lena heard muffled outbursts of voices and vindictive shouts that formed a clamour that could be heard from inside the museum. They went down the stairs, passed the empty counters and the museum employees who watched them with concern.

The front doors opened, releasing the noise and turmoil from outside for a few seconds before closing behind Locke and Monroe.

“Well, well, the cavalry has arrived,” mocked Locke, running his hand over his smooth skull. Why didn't you stay with the celebrities, Oxton?”

“You're really hilarious.” replied Lena greatly bored with his provocations.

“It's getting less and less funny every time.” Craig added.

“For you.” Locke said, revealing his teeth. “Not for me.”

If there was one member of her team that Lena didn't like, it was Locke: a medium sized bald man with a bony, hairless face and two small cunning eyes. His fellow Monroe, on the other hand, was tall, fat and had a certain good-natured appearance with childish features and a thick tuft of blond hair. He yawned and tried to discreetly pull up his trousers. Lena didn't particularly like him any more than his colleague, but she had noticed that Monroe was much nicer to his team when Locke wasn't around.

“Why makes this switch?” Monroe wondered.

“Donovan has his reasons as always.” Craig replied.

“Well,” Locke shrugged. “is the buffet being served?”

“Hurry up or there'll be nothing left.”

Craig took a petit four out of one of his trouser pockets and swallowed it in front of the other two in a daring manner.

“You've really got a big mouth, Craig,” replied the bald man scoffing, “for a child...”

Locke and Monroe passed them both to reach the bottom of the stairs that would lead them to the exhibition hall.

“How are things outside?” asked Lena out of a concern for her professionalism.

“The police have been here for a long time; they take care of everything.” Monroe replied.

“You just have to enjoy the show.” Locke added without even looking back.

They disappeared at the top of the stairs, heading down the corridors of the museum, leaving Craig and Lena alone at the front doors.

“I don't know about you,” stated Lena, “but what Locke said doesn't comfort me at all.”

“Same here.”

They walked out of the Tate Modern, through the automatic doors, and Lena was finally able to realise the scale of what was happening outside. Hundreds of people had invaded the esplanade in front of the Tate Modern Museum, shouting slogans and chanting claims, armed with signs and banners. The roaring crowd gathered was made up of men, women and omnics. Their demands were no mystery to Lena: they were protesting against the exhibition. They were shouting at each other to tear their lungs out, calling out in unison as one voice:

“No to the Exhibition! No to the Abomination!” 

“Omnics! Humans! All equals! Omnics! Humans! All equals!”

From the top of the stairs, Lena and Craig could see the crowd that stretched to the banks of the Thames. Above the river, the Millennium Bridge linked the Southwark and City districts. Across the river, Lena saw the huge glass dome of the New St. Paul's Cathedral surrounded by a swarm of buildings projecting a cold glow, which dominated her on a starless sky. She was able to distinguish the traffic of aircraft and drones between the buildings, dancing in a hypnotic ballet. Just the opposite of the agitation on the esplanade below, created by a heterogeneous and rumbling crowd. The only thing that separated the demonstrators from the stairs leading to the museum were metal barriers and a row of policemen on the lookout who had to contain any overflow.

“Here you are at last!” cried a voice.

A red-headed woman wearing the same uniform stopped them. Kathleen Davis was Donovan's right-hand man, a woman of the same temperament. Unfriendly and strict, Davis had an athletic, muscular figure with red hair tucked into a tight bun. She had pinched lips, an aquiline nose, and freckles. Lena usually loved this last feature, but this was not the case with Kate Davis. She had never seen her smile, Davis preferred to show a stern and impassive face, which was a pity because if she had, Lena would have found her rather cute. Craig liked to call her the female Donovan.

“We ran into Locke and Monroe, we just talked to them for a few seconds.” explained Lena.

“We're not here to chat.” Davis said. “We have to make sure none of them disrupt the exhibition.”

Lena strongly doubted that the demonstrators would try anything. In addition to the police officers stationed at the barrier, two police cars were at the ends of the square, keeping a close eye on everything that was happening in front of the museum. There were also a dozen security guards from Helix at the top of the stairs, as well as the usual Tate Modern security guards, who must have felt quite useless with all this security.

“I don't think anyone will try anything.” she simply replied.

“I wouldn't be so sure.”

Davis' reply ended the discussion and the three took their places on the top of the stairs, looking for any outbursts from the protesters. In the air, drone cameras were circling the crowd, preferring to keep their distance from the demonstrators. Some of the drones were in the colours of the police, while others bore the words " press " in white letters. Journalists were also there, away from all the commotion, covering the movement. The loud shouts and clamour were repeated, sometimes by the high and low voices of the humans, sometimes by the crystal-clear and pure voices of the omnics. Lena saw rudimentary, hastily made signs and banners stretched and supported by several demonstrators: “Humans and Omnics: united for equal rights!”. She saw an omnic on the shoulders of a human waving a sign that read: "I am not your piece of art". Two women chanted slogans via vocal amplifiers, which were immediately repeated by the rest of the protest:

“We are not complicit! Leane your monstrosity, we do not want it!”

Other demonstrators whose cries were muffled by the crowd's exhortations had other suggestions for the artist. Lena could discern cries that seemed to incite LeTal to visit a certain part of her anatomy, while others explicitly identified her with that part. Lena could only agree with them.

Several minutes passed, the uninterrupted rallying cries of the crowd continued to resound on the museum esplanade and, instead of keeping Lena on alert, the tumult of the crowd plunged her into her thoughts. She slowly looked around the esplanade, letting herself be carried away by all the curiosities she could see. In the middle of the placards, she caught a glimpse of a man holding a portrait above her head at arm's length. In the frame was an omnic with a slender face, milky complexion, chrome and gold chin and jaws, but without a mouth. Two interstices and two lines marked the eyes and temples of his white face and nine blue diodes constellated in a perfect square were inlaid on his forehead. Lena recognised Tekhartha Mondatta, a figure of equality between omnics and humans. The demonstrator had added two lines beneath this portrait: “We are all one within the Iris”.

Among the crowd, some omnics wore clothes: shirts, jackets, trousers, long tunics, loose dresses or simply working suits. However, Lena managed to find some omnics among the assembly who were not wearing any piece of cloth, and who seemed to proudly display the plates, tubes, nuts, bolts and any piece of metal that made up their bodies. At least, that was what Lena assumed. Surely it was not modesty that incited the omnics to wear clothes, but rather their will to fit into human societies and above all to create their own identity, to exist individually within a multitude of totally homogenous models.

"Peace and Unity" was written on a sign. Lena knew that the struggle for the rights of the omnics was a struggle that activists had been leading for years, whether omnics or human beings. Unlike many other countries, the UK considered the omnics to be second-class citizens. They worked as cheap labour in factories, in manufactures, doing the most thankless jobs, with the blessing of business and government. Thus, the omnics were portrayed as part of the driving forces of the British nation and its economy.

But that was the only thing they were recognised for. Apart from that, the omnics were forced to stay amongst them, parked in ghettos, slums, in abject places with inhuman conditions. And as soon as they left their regular neighbourhoods, some did not hesitate to remind them where they belonged, whether through words or violence. Lena had always known this reality and with the rise of extremist omnic groups, she understood that this status quo would only lead to a divided country. When she was with Overwatch, she had been able to travel to many countries and realised that human and omnic cohabitation was possible. At least, if mentalities changed, and leaders moved in that direction.

However, this was far from being the case in the United Kingdom where, despite attempts to calm down and change, the Null Sector uprising had revived the tensions between humans and omnics and had further divided the country on the issue of equal rights. Yet some were trying to change the situation. Lena knew deep down that she should be among the protesters to reject this grotesque work of art, to condemn this filthy sculpture that reduced the omnics to mere pieces of metal that humans could freely use and dispose of. Those people at the bottom of the stairs were fighting for their ideas and what they believed to be right.

Shortly after the dissolution of Overwatch, Helix Security International had approached Lena to hire her as a member of their UK branch. Helix presented itself as the successor to Overwatch, a private security and law enforcement organisation, which was therefore a continuation of its missions. However, unlike its predecessor, Helix Security International was not meant to intervene when it was not invited to do so, something that Overwatch had been widely criticised for. But Lena had accepted their offer because she hoped to find the same will as in her former organisation: to protect and serve the oppressed and to maintain peace. But she had been deluded and the months spent in Helix were a slow process of disenchantment.

As the missions progressed, she realised that Helix was nothing like Overwatch. On all the operations where her team had been sent, she had been restricted to serving and protecting the interests of those who could afford to employ the services of the private company. Helix was only interested in profit, its service was aimed at the wealthiest, as much as its protection. This frustrated Lena, but she had no other opportunities and Helix had worked hard to keep her in their ranks.

“Donovan.”

Kate Davis' voice brought her back to reality.

“Nothing has changed here?” asked the team leader soberly.

“No, the police are keeping everyone calm.” Davis answered.

Donovan didn't give her a glance and went to stand between Craig and Kate.

“It looks like there are still people joining the demonstration.” Lena added.

“The police are keeping the crowd in check.” Donovan replied, still without looking at her. “No intervention on our part, unless they try to force their way into the museum.”

“How long is the evening supposed to last?” asked Craig.

“The organisers set twenty-three o'clock as the end time to close the event.”

“In about two hours' time, the event will end ...”

In front of them, the crowd of demonstrators did not cease to gather, and the grievances continued with equal force and conviction.

“How long have they been there?” asked Lena.

“It must be two hours.” Kate said.

“Let's hope they get tired by then.” Craig tried to joke.

But nobody laughed at his remark. The drone cameras fluttered above the protesters. The police drones were trying to disperse the journalists' devices. The latter twirled away from the crowd, approaching the top of the museum's stairs. A police drone stopped them in their tracks and brought them back to the esplanade.

“Let's stand back.” Donovan ordered, moving away from the top of the stairs to get closer to the museum doors. “There's no need to expose ourselves too much, I'd like to avoid attracting too much attention.”

The spike had been addressed directly to her, but Lena didn't pick it up and kept her composure, simply following without flinching her superior.

“Miss Oxton cannot breathe without attracting all the attention around her?”

Lena gave Kate a dark look and the redhead replied with a grin.

“Is that why you were switched with Locke and Monroe? Are we going to relive what happened at the Royal Albert Hall?”

“No.” Lena replied dryly.

“Certainly not,” Donovan added coldly. “I won't allow it.”

There was a silence between the four security members of Helix, only punctuated by the repeated demands and slogans on the plaza.

“If your mere presence jeopardises our missions, then perhaps we should reconsider your position within the team.” Kate announced.

Lena did her best to keep calm. But what was to stop her from going, in a fraction of a second, in the blink of an eye, to take a punch in her jaw. Kate could handle it anyway.

“Kate why not keep your thoughts to yourself?” replied Craig.

“You'd better think about it, Craig.” the redhead whistled. “What will Helix's team coordinators think when they see that every time we go into the field, something always has to go wrong because of Oxton? At what point will this endanger our assignments?”

“Despite these incidents, all our team's missions have been successfully completed.” commented Lena, staring at Kate. “I've already worked with many teams on the field, including teammates far more competent than you. So, if you're worried that my presence on the team will affect your work, just let the mission coordinator know. I'm sure he will find a new team for you that matches your abilities, and maybe it will be missions that are more to your half measure.”

She had lost her patience and had freed herself from all the frustration she had been accumulating since the beginning of the evening. A weight in her chest had been lifted. Kate's grin faded and she pouted with resentment. On Craig's side, her lips cracked into a broad, satisfied smile that he didn't try to hide. Donovan, true to himself, remained marbled and Lena preferred to savour her victory rather than try to get a reaction from him.

“However, the fact remains that these incidents are a problem for the team.” Donovan finally replied. “Competent or not, it doesn't change anything. And I don't want to hear any more about it tonight.”

The team leader came to close the debate, but Lena had sent Kate back to her entrenchment. It was a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

Their watch continued for about ten minutes, without incident or outbursts from the protesters, who kept on singing and shouting their demands out loud. However, Lena had surprised a moment of tension between the law-enforcement agencies and the demonstrators. An omnic had attempted to climb one of the dividing barriers to hold up his placard. A policeman had quickly curbed his audacity with a show of force, beating the barrier with his truncheon, forcing him to come down and join the swarming mass of protesters who turned their demands into disapproving cries. It was at these very moments that everything could turn upside down. All it took was a blink of an eye for a crowd to go up into a rage.

Fortunately, this did not happen. The tension gradually eased, and the demonstrators continued to protest, while maintaining a certain distance from the police barriers. Lena was surprised to wonder what would have happened if she had been recognised. Would it have distracted the demonstrators' attention? The journalists and their drones would have rushed at her to get the best shot. She had already imagined herself making the headlines in the tabloids and in articles about the holonet.

Everyone would have gone with their own interpretation, more or less approximate, but in no way close to the truth. During her years of service with Overwatch, with the media pressure the organisation had come under, she had understood that words and images had a meaning that could easily be misused. The pictures would have shown her in front of the museum preventing any intrusion into a famous London museum where an abject work was on display that reduced the omnics to a dispensable object. What would people have thought when they saw her like this? If the protesters recognised her at that moment, would they encourage her to join them? Or would they denounce the simple fact that she was on the wrong side of the barrier?

“It looks like things are moving over there.”

At Craig's remark, Lena turned to the back of the esplanade, not far from one of the police cars. A group of humans had just mingled with the crowd and were trying to make their way up the stairs. They met resistance from the demonstrators.

“What do we do?” Kate asked, seeking direction from Donovan.

“We wait. The police handle the back.”

A scream erupted from the tumult of claims, attracting the attention of the crowd. The clamour turned into a general outcry as omnics and men fought at the back. Lena immediately thought of groups of extremists anti-omnic humans, known to attack and oppose those they called "tin cans". In an instant, the crowd lost all semblance of order. Some wanted to get as far away as possible while others converged on where the brawl had just begun. In the distance, Lena thought she saw a wooden bat rise from the mass of protesters and disappear as quickly as it had appeared.

“We have to do something!” Craig yelled.

“We're not doing anything.” Donovan replied. “The police will take care of it.”

Lena looked at the police car closest to the altercation, the officers leaning against the car trunk didn't react. They let it happen.

“They're not going to do anything!” cried Lena. “Otherwise they would have done it a long time ago.”

Some of the demonstrators tried to leave the esplanade and crowded together at the bottom of the museum's stairs, pushing back the police barriers at the same time. The police on duty did their best to contain them, but the agitation and fear of violence had created real panic. Above the chaos, the drones were taking advantage of the show.

“The situation is getting out of hand!” said Lena. “We have to intervene!”

“We've secured the museum, Oxton!” Donovan ordered.

“We have to help them!”

Lena's call went unanswered. Craig was hesitant and Kate was indifferent. Lena looked at her team leader's pupils. His orders had not changed. He would remain inflexible as she heard cries for help and screams of fear coming from the esplanade.

Lena turned around to face the museum plaza. In the front line, the demonstrators were standing against the barriers, their faces twisted by fear and anxiety, while shouts were heard from the back of the esplanade where the clashes were taking place. No matter how much she thought, she had to face the facts. She was on the wrong side of the barrier

She took a few steps in the direction of the museum stairs while feeling the chronal accelerator thundering on her chest. Lena didn't even hear one of her team members call her to order. Then, without warning, she ran towards the crowd.

In the blink of an eye, she reached the foot of the stairs between two policemen, she leaned on one of the police barriers to jump over the crowd stunned by this sudden appearance. Once again, she blinked into the air to reduce the gap between her and the clashes. Then she leaned on the shoulder of one of the protesters again to jump before making another blink and finally reaching the scene of the brawl.

A man, armed with a bat, was about to hit an omnic on the ground who was protecting himself behind his dented arm. In shock, both of them saw Lena land on their feet. She didn't lose a single moment. With a powerful kick, she swept the attacker's legs to put him down. Then she took advantage of a blink to join another attacker who was pushing away a woman who was trying to help the omnic. She punched him and sent him to the ground to join his friend in front of the bewildered eyes of the crowd. Using her speed, she struck the belly of a third man with her knee which dropped the iron bar in his hand. Before it even fell to the ground, she grabbed the weapon and threw it at another individual who had come to blows with a protester.

Lena stopped, feeling that the chronal accelerator on her chest was at the end of its charge. Around her, the protesters and anti-omnic groups had frozen. The four extremists whom she had put out of action were writhing in pain on the cobblestones of the esplanade. The injured omnic got up thanks to the support of two women and Lena retrieved the bat from the first attacker's position and finally stood between him and the omnic.

“The next time you want to break omnics with your pals, you'll think twice.” she warned, pointing at him with the bat.

With a broad movement, she threw the bat into the air, which fell directly into the Thames. The extremists stared at her coldly and Lena tried to catch her breath after the adrenaline rush. A cloud of cheers and applause rose up among the demonstrators. She did not have time to realise that the drones of the press and the police were already on top of her, circling around her, scanning every angle of their invasive objectives. In addition to the crowd of protesters and the cameras of the drones, she felt Donovan's dark gaze from the top of the stairs behind her.

Lena, panting, let out a nervous laugh.

“Shit...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> It's time for me to address this fifth chapter with the aforementioned character that I've been teasing since chapter two but who has finally slipped behind Angela and Hanzo. 
> 
> This chapter has totally changed from what I had envisioned at the beginning. I liked the basic idea but I didn't like writing it and then after a conversation with my lifelong friend I rethought the scene and it is undeniable that the final result is far better.
> 
> Lena's chapter was written fairly quickly and I tried to avoid using the same tone as in other chapters by former Overwatch members such as Winston and Angela. This is partly because it is redundant to write and I suspect it may be the same when reading. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you will be able to recognise the character of Lena in it. I always try to transcribe the characters from the video game as well as possible and I hope that this is the case. Thanks to Etsukazu for his help and rereading. I know that he was extremely more than rigorous on the character of Tracer, it is one of his favourites.
> 
> We will be moving on to a new character and I can't wait to write about this character who is a fan favourite. 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, feel free to leave me your opinion in the comments. It provides euphoria and motivation for the author.
> 
> See you soon !


	6. The Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pursued by the ghosts of his past, a former hero half-man half-machine confronts his demons.

**THE WANDERER**

He heard footsteps from behind his back. They were coming closer at rapid pace, but they still seemed far away. He wanted to look back but was unable to do so. His eyes were focused on the weapons rack at his feet. A katana and its scabbard were exposed there. The hilt and the knob of the weapon were gold but the blade, although shiny, was chipped. Blood ran from its point and droplets fell one by one to the ground. With each impact, the stranger's step felt much closer but he couldn't look over his shoulder. Above the weapons rack lay a large parchment with four kanji painted in black ink. He knew the meaning of each one: _dragon's head, snake's tail_. However, the parchment wasn't intact, a scar had split it on its left side, staining it with red ink stains. Unless it was blood.

The drops kept dripping from the blade as he felt the presence in his back. Frozen in contemplation, he heard the hoarse voice thundering in the darkness:

“No sign of him. Nowhere.”

“That's not possible,” he replied breathlessly. “He should be here.”

“We've questioned everyone,” said the hoarse voice. “He hasn't stepped foot here for several months.”

The blood was dripping down, creating a red pool at his feet, the katana was no longer on the rack but in his hand. 

“Look again. It must have been hiding somewhere in the estate.”

“It' s already done. The information gathered is also formal. He left the clan.”

The red stains on the parchment began to spread, absorbing the black ink of the kanji until they completely disappeared. His fingers tightened on the katana's pommel whose blade was stained dark red. He turned and saw a shape resembling a large shadow.

“You did your part perfectly. It's all over.” the hoarse voice announced.

With these words, the shadow disappeared, blown by the wind to reveal a body on the ground. It stood above the bruised thing, bathed in a scarlet pool. From the floor, blood seemed to be rising on his blade. But he was able to hear a faint breathing, with groans of agony. He was still alive. Despite the cuts and gashes on his torso, his broken body and his mutilated face, he was still clinging to life. The arrogance in his eyes had given way to pity.

His fingers grasped firmly the katana as he raised his blade.

“What I am about to do, I am doing it for the clan's honour.”

Then he cut down his weapon.

Out of breath, Genji woke up with a start. It was only a dream, a bad dream. He lay down, trying to recover his calm and chase those dark dreams from his mind. His breathing gradually returned to normal. His arms and fingers were stiff, yet he tried to stretch his limbs. The daylight was blinding him and he put his hand to his face to protect his eyes. While his mind was still clouded by his troubled sleep, he heard a song.

He rubs his eyes. When he took his hands away, he saw birds hopping in front of him. Two small round birds, with brown and grey feathers, orange beaks and yellow necks, were looking for food, pecking and snooping in every nook and cranny, every crack in the ground. And they were singing. It was a cheerful melody that they exchanged between each flapping of their wings as they walked across the roof, which seemed to suit this dawn in its last moments, as the sun broke through at the top of the mountains.

Genji leaned against the wall, wedging his travel bag - which he used as a pillow - into his lower back. From the roof where he had taken refuge for the night, he had a wide view over the valley of Harāēkō and the small Nepalese town of the same name. The town, built on the hillside of a mountain, bordered a river that grew into a small lake on which Harāēkō had been grafted for its activities. The sunrise lights gave silvery reflections to the lake's waters and to the river's current, which meandered through the plains and the rocky, deforested hills where the yaks grazed. At the foot of the banks, mountains of eternal snow rose, immense and immaculate, swearing with the brown lands of the valley where there were a few scattered patches of white. The sun had just passed the highest peak of the mountain range. From this height, it seemed that the star could be reachable, that one could touch the sky and dominate the clouds.

Genji sensed a gust of wind blowing over his face. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and the cold slightly bit his cheeks. It reminded him of Switzerland and all the sunrises he had seen. Like the country, the Swiss mountains were beautiful, a peaceful place with lush vegetation and mountains full of life. But the Swiss peaks were nothing compared to the titans on the roof of the world. Bathed in clouds and overlooking the valley, the Himalayan mountains were wild and inhospitable, and the high peaks were a constant reminder of the hostility of this environment. Yet, as Genji watched them, he could not help but notice that this inaccessibility made these mountains fascinating. Many explorers and alpinists had tried to climb these peaks at great risk for their lives. Some had succeeded, others had not. The mountain is cruel, what it takes, it keeps. But Genji understood the feeling that animated those who wanted to brave nature and cold to be at the top of the highest point on the planet. Climbing Everest was one of the things he would have liked to do in the past. However, it was no longer one of his priorities.

He retrieved his travel bag and opened it in search for food. He took out a cereal bar, tore the packaging and bit into it. Breakfast would be frugal, like everything else over the past few weeks. While chewing, Genji took this opportunity to rummage through the bag's contents and take an inventory of his food supplies. He fell on his mask, the piece of armour that covered his eyes and mouth, and delicately placed it on his travel coat right next to him, under which his katana and scabbard also lay. It had been a long time since he had worn this visor. He explored the bottom of the bag to touch a surprising object: an Overwatch emergency beacon. Genji had forgotten that he had kept this device with the organisation's logo. It was a device given to each group member to be activated only in case of extreme emergency, and which could receive messages or vital information. However, he never had the opportunity to use it.

Nevertheless, he put it back in the bottom of the bag. Overwatch had been a part of his life, he had to keep something from those years in the organisation. Shortly after the destruction of the headquarters, he had left in a hurry, fearing that his past would catch up with him. Overwatch had protected him for the past few years, but now that the organisation had been dissolved, there was nothing to stop Genji Shimada from being arrested to face justice and answer for his crimes. The organisation had many enemies but Blackwatch had many more. He would have wished it were otherwise, but he would have been a burden to the other members.

Once the search was over, he found that he had indeed eaten his last bar, he needed to go and buy some more before he could go back on the road. Genji took a large swig of water from his canteen and put on his coat, which he closed to hide the armour that made up a large part of his body. He readjusted the collar of the garment, fixed his scabbard and katana to his back, put the shoulder strap of the bag over his shoulder and moved closer to the edge of the roof. Below, the city was already very lively. Repulsive trucks and cars drove through the steep and narrow streets, while stalls and shops were opened and pedestrians crowded the pavements. Genji chose to walk down an adjoining alleyway in order to not attract too much attention. Swift as a cat, he landed between two dumpsters without any noise and instead of joining the busy street, he chose to go in the opposite direction, entering the small streets of the city. The fewer people he came across, the better it would be for him.

At a junction, he came to a small courtyard, where he found a dozen children around a hooded figure sitting on a door sill.

“What story do you want to hear today?” asked the silhouette in a husky voice.

“The one about the two friends and the Mountain!”

“The Snow Princess.”

“The elephant and the gazelle!”

“I've already told you these stories yesterday.” replied the silhouette.

“I want to hear it again!”

“You tell the story so well.”

“Can we have a new story?” 

Faced with the infatuation of the brats, the figure raised its hand to impose calm. Genji then noticed that it was made of chromed steel. It was not a human being.

“Jagga is right.” he said in his still husky voice. “I think you deserve a new story: the story of the Wolf, the Eagle and the Bear.”

The children didn't object and remained seated, huddled around the storyteller, who cleared his throat before beginning his story.

“This story took place in a valley far, far away. A valley full of life, with coniferous forests, plains and hills, which rubbed shoulders with the mountains and the snow from the summits.”

“We don't have a lot of forests here.” said a young girl.

“Hush!” scolded another.

“You're right, Cara.” replied the storyteller with a gentle laugh. “Harāēkō doesn't have much forest, but in other valleys, the mountain slopes are dotted with trees among which many animals live. Just as in the distant valley of my story, where animals thrived under the rule of great warriors: the Wolf, the Eagle and the Bear. There were three of them and each one had his own domain of predilection as well as his territory. The Eagle reigned over the high summits and the skies, he flew higher than any beast in the valley and nobody escaped his sharp eyes. The Wolf was agile and fast, he commanded an imposing pack and ruled over the plains and hills, while the Bear, wise and strong, ruled the mountains and its surrounding forests, knowing every hidden corner and every cave. Yet they frequently fought each other, battling for supremacy over the valley. Their strength was equal and none of them managed to supplant the other two. The victims of those endless conflicts were the other animals of the valley who saw their offspring and their elders die during their clashes.”

The children listened to the storyteller's words with attention and admiration, immerged in his story, and Genji was also surprised that he wanted to stay and listen as well.

\- One day, the valley's creatures gathered together to reason with the Wolf, the Eagle and the Bear. They went to speak to them, one after the other, to explain that their quarrels had to stop, that the valley was suffering from their clashes and that they should join forces to protect all their domains from threats from outside the valley. The Wolf and the Eagle were sceptical about the idea of this alliance, both of them fearing that the other warriors would betray him as soon as he turned his back. However, the Bear supported the proposal of the animals and worked to get the Eagle and the Wolf to cooperate. She had seen the devastation they had caused and she wanted peace and prosperity to returned to these lands. Thanks to her, the Wolf and the Eagle came to an agreement and the three warriors formed a union that would last for years.

The storyteller suddenly stopped and Genji saw him raise his head revealing what was hidden under his hood. A wide band of cloth concealed the top of his face while the lower part was made of chrome steel that reflected the daylight.

“Why don't you come closer if you want to listen the story?” the omnic appealed to him in a friendly tone.

Genji saw the children looking at him and he saw faces writhing in fear at his unusual appearance. He was about to walk away when his curiosity got the better of him. To avoid scaring the audience, he walked slowly through the courtyard, under the watchful eyes of the children and their storyteller, to reach a section of wall where he leaned back in silence to hear the rest of the story.

“Let's resume.” said the omnic, recovering the full attention of his audience. “Thereafter, for years, the Bear, the Wolf and the Eagle cooperated to protect the valley from the dangers of the outside world and settled the internal conflicts and disputes that broke out within the valley. Surprisingly, the three warriors who had fought each other on countless occasions became true comrades-in-arms and genuine friends. And exactly as the animals expected, the valley prospered under the watchful eye of these three warriors, who thwarted every threat against it. They drove back the vultures that wanted to create their own kingdom in the mountains, chased away the elephant herd that ravaged the plains and the hills, and when the dreaded White Tiger ventured into the valley's forests with their combined forces, they brought him down.”

“Wow!” cried a child.

“Tigers are stronger than wolves.”

“Yeah, but aren't bears stronger than tigers?”

“Shhh!” scolded again the little girl. 

The boys lowered their heads and the storyteller calmly resumed, keeping his serene tone:

“However, every time winter came, the Bear had to take refuge in her cave to hibernate, leaving the valley protected by the Wolf and the Eagle. Both swore to their friend that she had nothing to fear and that when she woke up in spring, she would find the valley unchanged. The Wolf and the Eagle were totally different from each other, true opposites. The wolf had black hair while the eagle had white feathers. The Eagle was noble and upright while the Wolf was coarse and cunning. Yet every spring, when the Bear awoke, she discovered that the two never betrayed their promises and worked together, putting aside their differences, to preserve their land and the animals that lived there. But one day, when the snow disappeared across the plains and the trees recovered their leaves and flowers, which meant the end of winter, the Bear did not wake up. The Wolf and the Eagle waited for her at the entrance of her cave, waiting for her return but nothing came out. For days they waited with anxiety and anguish, but the Bear did not reappear. And then the unthinkable happened. The Eagle accused the Wolf of having killed the Bear while she was sleeping so that he could take over her territory. For his part, the Wolf claimed that the Eagle had killed the Bear by making her eat the dangerous berries that grew on the tallest fir trees of the valley. The two warriors tore each other apart, breaking the ancient union they had formed with the Bear. Then each one returned to his domain and raised his troops to put an end to his rival.”

A child stifled a shout of surprise and the storyteller stopped his tale.

“What's going on, Dara? Are you afraid?” he asked.

“The Bear is dead.” she replied half-voiced as her eyes moistened.

“Shhh!” repeated the girl who wanted to constantly impose silence. “We'll never get the rest!”

“Don't worry, Chitō. replied the omnic in her husky voice. The rest of the story is coming, and you don't have to feel sad for the Bear, Dara. Because she wasn't dead but was still in a deep sleep. When she finally woke up, she found that she had been asleep for far too long and that the valley was on the brink of war. The armies of the Wolf and the Eagle were about to face each other in the ultimate battle for the domination of the valley. Even the other animals were reluctant to obey them. The years of peace had brought all the other animals in the valley closer together and friendships had been forged. But all this was shattered when the armies of the Eagle and the Wolf met on the battlefield. The Bear ran through the forest at full speed, hoping to make it in time to reason with her companions. As the two armies were about to collide, the Bear appeared on the battlefield, to everyone's surprise. She brought the Wolf and the Eagle to their senses, explaining that their friendship prevailed over ancient resentments and that this battle would only lead to the ruin of all. The Wolf and the Eagle listened to the Bear, for she was the wisest of them all, and then they apologised to each other and embraced as brothers. The whole valley cheered the return of the three warriors, and this last incident marked the end of their timeless struggle, and the animals lived in perfect harmony for ever in this prosperous valley.”

The storyteller paused for a moment as the children were stunned before one of them broke the silence with a round of applause.

“You see, Dara.” said the storyteller. “The tale has a happy ending.”

The little girl nodded in agreement while rubbing her eyes. The applause suddenly fell silent when the door, on which the storyteller was leaning, opened to make way for a woman with a broom, which she immediately used on the storyteller.

“Get out of here! How many times do we have to tell you not to come over here?” she cried, hitting the omnic with her broom.

The omnic crashed to the ground at the children's feet, who got up in one bound. Genji stiffened but did not intervene.

“Mum!”

“Don't you have something to do, Chitō?” complained her mother. “Your father is waiting for you, you should be gone by now.”

The little girl rushed through the alley as if she was the next victim of her mother's broom. Meanwhile, the omnic was still biting the dust. Genji saw him groping for something on the floor with his hands until he grabbed a walking stick and leaned on it to get up.

“All of you should be at school or at work too!” the woman ordered, calling out to the children.

Without warning, the windows of the houses in the inner courtyard opened, revealing worried parents.

“Jagga! Cara! Move away from that thing and go home!” said a man pointing at the storyteller.

“I told you not to hang around with that piece of junk anymore!”

“Leave our kids alone and piss off!” 

One by one, the children dispersed, leaving the omnic storyteller to suffer the quibbles of the inhabitants. Genji felt that it was also time for him to leave. The omnicc, supported by his stick, turned towards the little black-haired girl who was pulling at his cape, the very last one of his audience.

“You will come back tomorrow?” whispered little Dara. “I want you to tell the story of the two bears.”

“I'll be here tomorrow.” nodded the omnic. “Now go. Your mother is calling you.”

The little one wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket and ran into one of the houses in the courtyard. Genji saw the omnic slowly walk away to an alley when the mother with the broom spoke to him:

“The next time we see you come near our kids, I promise you'll end up in the scrap yard, in bits and pieces, just like the rest from your kind.”

“I mean no harm to Chitō and the other children, ma'am.” he replied in his husky voice. “I just tell them stories.”

“Fuck off!”

Genji felt it was really time to escape but it was at that precise moment that the woman with the broom noticed him.

“You too! Go away!” she bawled. “We don't want things like you here!”

The door slammed shut as did the windows of the other residents, even though Genji felt that eyes were still watching them behind the windows. This interlude had gone on for too long and he walked down the alley, following the footsteps of the storyteller who was walking slowly, leaning on his walking stick. As he passed the omnic, the latter asked him:

“Did you like the story?”

“I already heard this story.” replied Genji, looking back at the omnic. “My nursemaid used to tell it to me when I was a child.”

His travel cape concealed his metal body as did the thick black band that covered most of his face. From closer, Genji found the omnic intriguing, even rather suspicious. It was no wonder that parents would not accept that their children might be around such a dubious individual.

“Your nursemaid knew how to choose her stories.” added the storyteller.

“Why did you change the end of the story?” asked Genji.

The omnic nodded his head and went on his way before finally answering:

“I prefer happy endings because they are the ones that children like and give them a bit of hope. And everyone needs a little bit of hope in this world.”

Upon hearing these words, Genji watched the omnic storyteller disappear down an alleyway and then went on his way again. The end of the tale of the Wolf, the Eagle and the Bear was very different in his memories. The Bear had not come in time to reason with her old comrades-in-arms. She arrived after the battle, when the only survivors were the Wolf and the Eagle, both wounded, in the midst of the death and desolation they had caused. Out of desperation and anger, the Bear then turned on her injured companions and killed them both before returning to her cave to plunge into a sleep from which she would never awaken.

Genji followed the main roads to reach the southern part of the city which should lead him to his destination. Trucks and old levibuses followed one another on the road. The small town was the gateway for those who wanted to connect China and India. The traffic was constant. The day before, Genji had found it difficult to find sleep disturbed by the constant snoring and roaring of the vehicles that passed through the city. At least this had the advantage of pointing him in the right direction. He was wandering the pavements looking for a convenience store, a shop, a mini-market where he could buy food for the rest of his journey.

He seemed to attract all the attention, equipped with his katana, his bag, and his travel coat which gave him this stilted appearance. Not to mention his helmet that framed his face. Genji could see the discreet glances and suspicious eyes of the passers-by he came across on his way. On his trip from Switzerland to Nepal, he realised that his appearance made people distrustful. It was certainly not because of the weapon he constantly carried on his back. Many of the countries he had crossed had emerged greatly weakened from the Omnic Crisis. In these countries, it was not strange to see armed militias ensuring the protection of citizens and cities. Yet, as he passed through, Genji recalled the fearful faces, the dismayed looks, the omnipresent tensions and the undisguised threats against him. It was not his weapon that attracted attention, but his body, which had no human aspect.

He had been trying hard to hide it by buying this coat, but even this artifice did not conceal his prosthetic legs and the mechanical aspect of his hands, his arms and the helmet that covered his skull. By removing his visor, he hoped to reassure his surroundings but all those who crossed his path could only see his scarred face. And for this they would still have to look him in the eyes. At headquarters, his appearance hadn't been a problem, it hadn't been raised for a long time, and with the hindsight of his months of travel, Genji realised that this had convinced him that he had regained a certain normality in his life. But now that he had completely detached himself from the organisation, he had bitterly realised that this was not the case. His months of loneliness had brought him back to his singular condition, and at times he had allowed himself to regret his sudden departure. His nights were long and full of bad dreams, and during his many periods of insomnia, he thought back to his team with nostalgia and to the many late-night conversations he had with a valuable colleague at headquarters and the awful coffee she made. Perhaps that was what he missed the most.

After passing several blocks, Genji noticed that he was approaching the outskirts of the city. Buildings were becoming scarce to make way for garages, depots and warehouses, and further down the road, an energy station. Two truck drivers filled up their vehicles at self-service machines before continuing on their endless road through the mountains and down to China. Genji passed by the truckers discreetly and entered the shop adjacent to the station. With a light tinkling announcing his entrance into the shop, he looked through the shelves in search of cereal bars and other travel food.

The place reminded him of the konbini from his native country. Small supermarkets that were more neighbourhood grocery shops than supermarkets, and this shop fit this image well. A pile of shelves in columns separated by narrow aisles, where you could find all the non-perishable products, surrounded along the walls by refrigerated cupboards where the fresh products were displayed. Genji remarked that the cashier was busy behind his counter, which he had not noticed. Further on, an old woman was looking at the label of a cleaning product and on the other side of the shop, three teenagers were stuck in front of the fresh beer shelf.

Genji walked into one of the shelves looking at the packaging, the food or boxes that evoked something in his mind. He had to find provisions that he could keep for many days and that would be pleasant to eat. The multivitamin bars were a good choice for much of the trip but he was getting tired of them. Yet they were found everywhere, whether in local grocery shops, large supermarkets or gas station shops like this one. Moreover, they were easy to transport and were more than enough to feed him, although Genji would have liked to vary his diet. Nevertheless, he was always limited by the choice of products from the places he visited. After a few minutes looking around the corners of each section of the shop, he had to resign himself to taking cereal bars once again. On the way to the cashier, Genji also saw a packet of chocolate bars and cans of Nano Cola. Tempted, he hesitated for a few seconds before picking them up and headed for the cash desk.

He placed his articles on the counter and the cashier finally noticed him. Genji saw him widen his eyes and stood still in amazement. He was now accustomed to this kind of reaction. However, the astonishment of the man at the cashier quickly disappeared.

“We don't serve the things like you here!”

“What do you mean, 'things like me'?” Genji asked curtly.

The cashier scowled and turned red. 

“Don't pretend you don't know, stupid machine! Get out of here! I don't want stuff like you in my shop.”

With a quick gesture, the cashier took the bundles of bars and the Nano Cola and dragged them over the counter out of Genji's reach. The latter stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“I have enough money to pay," he replied. “I'll pay for all this and I'll leave your shop.”

“You dare to put your filthy robot hands on me?”

The anger was twisting the man's face. With an abrupt movement, he freed himself from Genji's grip and pulled a gun from under his desk to point it at him. Genji didn't pretend to be surprised and stood still as the man walked around the counter, keeping him in his sights. At least he was trying to. Genji saw him trembling.

“I'm not an omnic.” he says aloud to make sure the man understands. “I am a human like you.”

“Yeah! Kiss my ass! You omnic scum!” he scolded as he shuddered in fear. “I wouldn't listen to your bullshit! Get out of my shop or you'll end up with your friends in the dump!”

“It doesn't have to be like this.” said Genji, annoyed. “I'll take these products. I'll pay you and I'll leave.”

“No! You get the fuck out now! The machines like you took my brother and my mother from me! And you think I'm going to let you leave with goods from my shop like nothing's happened!”

“I've already told you, I'm not an omnic.”

“Bullshit!” cried the owner as the barrel of his gun was pointed at the head of his recalcitrant client.

Genji tried to remain calm, but his patience had its limits.

“I don't care, I'm going to shoot. Nobody will miss you, you're a cheap machine and machines just end up as scrap metal.”

Genji grabbed the owner's wrist and with great pressure he made him drop his gun before placing his arm on the counter. He screamed in pain and his legs swept across the floor like the legs of a disarticulated puppet as Genji tightened his grip on his wrist.

“Know that when you pull out a gun, you have to be ready to use it.” Genji replied dryly. “Making death threats instead of pulling the trigger is more likely to get you killed. Even cheap machines know that.”

It was so close to the man's face that he could see his eyes filling with tears and his face turning pale and twisted with dread. His whole body shuddered with fear and he thought he heard pleas coming out of his throat. Genji's hand tightened its grip on the owner's wrist, and a groan of pain came out of it.

He was interrupted, however, by an object he received to the right of his face, which shattered into several pieces of glass pouring a cold, alcoholic liquid on his cheeks. He released the man's wrist and turned around. The three teenagers in the beer section were facing him. Two of them had grabbed broomsticks and were about to use them, while the third was preparing to throw another bottle of beer at him.

“Hey, did you hear what he said?” cried the one with the beer. “Now you get the fuck out of here!”

On the desk, the cashier had not moved and was sobbing while holding his wrist. Genji stood still for a few seconds, watching the three teenagers. He noticed that behind them the old woman had taken refuge, just as frightened as the cashier. It was at this precise moment that Genji realised that he had unconsciously carried his hand behind his back, ready to grab the hilt of his sword. With his index finger he touched the knob of the katana. A second too late, he would have drawn.

“Are you deaf or what! Get the fuck out of here!” said a teenager with a broom.

Genji relaxed his fingers, then his arm and lowered it back to his side. The three teenagers and the old woman couldn't take their eyes off him as the shop owner continued to weep at half voice.

“I'm leaving.”

Genji tried to calm down and to control his anger. His coat and bag were soaked with beer and he smelled the liquid against the skin of his face. He had to find a place where he could wash it off. He had no business being here anyway. On the other side of the road, beyond other houses and meadows, he could see the silvery reflections of the lake. Quickly he crossed the road under the horns of trucks and cars and then went down into the valley, towards the water.

As he walked towards the lake, his steps took him away from the city. He left the concrete streets for the dry grass fields and reached the gravel banks of the lake. He placed his bag on a flat rock and took off his travel coat before entering the water. He stopped when it reached his knees. Genji could feel the liquid's resistance as his legs entered the lake, but his senses tricked him. He couldn't tell if the water was icy, warm or hot. He had become accustomed to living normally with his prosthetic legs but in return he had lost some of his senses.

Genji placed his hands shaped like a cup and plunged them into the lake. He wished he could feel the water caressing his palms, but he was only able to notice the presence of the liquid in his hand. His brain was functioning, his mind was still sharp but his body was completely beyond him. But could he still consider it as his body? He had lost his legs and his right arm. His left arm had been preserved by Overwatch surgeons, however, in order to ensure the proper functioning of his other prosthetic parts, it had been modified with implants, tendons and artificial tissues so that it was almost impossible to dissociate it from the right arm prosthesis. He could only blame himself: he had agreed to undergo those long and painful operations as well as the tedious months of re-education. He had yearned for the opportunity to walk again, but he had greatly underestimated the price he would pay.

Overwatch had taken care of maintaining his prostheses and optimising them as much as possible for his comfort and to enable him to regain his former physical abilities. At that time, the organisation surely had an idea in mind by saving his life. After all, they knew who he was in his former days and what he was capable of. Reyes knew this and he had clearly been able to use his skills to their fullest. Genji had done his part of the bargain and had supported Blackwatch until it was laid off. Then, following the most recent improvements and optimizations of his prostheses, he had received this " armor ", this grey shell, more discreet, more resistant but which seemed to have made him more machine than man.

He brought his hands close to his face, ready to spray himself with water, anticipating the future contact of the liquid with his skin. Genji lingered nevertheless. The smell and the taste of beer on his face awakened distant memories. He thought of the coolness of the glass in his palm, the foam on his lips and the smell of malt in his nostrils. He recalled the thunderous laughter, the clear sound of the toasting glasses and the melodies sung in unison. He remembered the fine, silky skirts of the hostesses, their powerful, refined scents and the sweet, fruity taste of their lips. He could remember the endless caresses in the night, his fingers moving along the curves, the breathtaking whispers and the shared pleasures. Genji sprayed himself with water. It was icy. Then he started a second time to rinse his face and make all traces of the alcoholic liquid disappear. He looked down at his reflection on the surface of the lake. Those memories belonged to someone else, someone who had disappeared years ago. The one he observed on the surface of the water was scarred and his gaze extinguished. His helmet obscured his features and enclosed his face. Was he still Genji Shimada, or just what was left of him?

A loud noise struck him on his back and he looked back, on guard. Not far from him, the omnic storyteller stood on the bank. Genji saw him put down his walking stick on the gravel and remove his hood and the long coat he was wearing.

“I feel like you're following me.” Genji called out to him as the omnic took off his patched up chino.

The storyteller didn't react immediately, but instead placed his trousers on the shore, well out of the water's reach.

“Perhaps it's you who's following me?” said the omnic in his rasping voice.

Genji watched the omnic completely undress. Although the omnics did not know about modesty, he thought he could discern a certain restraint in the storyteller's gait. For an omnic, there was nothing special about him, he resembled so many others that Genji had encountered. What did he have to hide under all those layers of clothing? He saw him enter the water, with a slow but sure step, totally exposed, the sun hitting his chromed steel plates with its rays. Nevertheless, he was still wearing his wide headband that covered his head.

“The lake is not big enough for you to leave me alone?” Genji annoyed.

“This little corner of the lake is my bathing area.” the omnic answered serenely. “It's rather you who doesn't seem to belong here.”

“The omnics like to splash around now? It's a new whim?”

“No, I don't think so.” said the storyteller as he passed him. “I believe it's simply my own whim.”

Genji watched him sink deeper into the lake until the water level reached his shoulders. The omnic detached the headband from his head, wet it before wringing it out and attaching it to his arm. Genji could then see his features. The top of what could be called his head had been crushed, creating a metallic deformity. If this omnic had been fashioned with human features, then they had disappeared under the crushed steel.

“It's very strange. This is the first time that someone has ever witnessed my bathing.”

Genji understood this as the omnic's interjection at his address to leave him alone. He sprinkled himself with water one last time and went back to the bank to fill his canteen. Meanwhile, he watched the storyteller take a few steps in the water, his hands scouring the surface of the waves to create ripples and waves. This strangely evoked something of Genji. He acted like a toddler discovering water games.

When the omnic came out of the water, he could distinguish more clearly the twisted and crushed steel from his head. The contrast between his shiny, polished chin and the top of his crushed, almost falling apart skull was striking. Genji watched him fumbling around on the ground looking for his belongings and finally realised what was so obvious.

“You're wondering what happened to me, aren't you?” asked the omnic.

Caught in the act, Genji did not answer and the storyteller did not seem to mind his silence.

“I got this stigma after an unfortunate encounter on my way to Kathmandu. Fortunately, it only destroyed my visual sensors and my voice modulator was simply damaged.”

He spread his coat over the gravel and sat cross-legged on it. The omnic raised his head towards the mountains and the sun.

“What have you done to deserve such injuries from men?” finally asked Genji.

“I didn't say it was humans who inflicted me those marks.”

“You won't make me believe otherwise. Omnics don't attack each other.”

The storyteller turned his crushed face towards him. Although he knew that the visual sensors were damaged under the twisted steel, Genji felt a strange sensation.

“You would be surprised to learn what the omnics can do to each other...”

After this gloomy sentence, the omnic again aimed his head towards the sun.

“Do you often tell stories to children?” inquired Genji as he settled down on the flat rock where he had pushed aside his bag.

“Very often. I'm an itinerant storyteller, it's my vocation. I travel around these lands and I stop in every village, in every town to tell my stories.”

“And you received those wounds because of a bad audience?”

“No, no. Bad audiences are not as violent.” the omnic seemed to laugh.

This omnic was definitely very confusing.

“This is the second time we've met this morning and I still don't know your name.” remarked the storyteller. “I intend to take the first step. My name is Duran.”

“Genji.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Genji.”

“Genji will suffice.”

“Understood. My activity obliges me to ask you if you don't know any interesting stories that you could pass on to me.”

Genji remembered his nursemaids, who looked after him and his brother when they were children, and the stories they told them. But everything was so far away, it all came back in bits and pieces in a disorderly and imprecise way.

“Sorry, but I'm much better at listening than telling stories.” he said.

“What a shame.” sighed Duran.” I don't often have the opportunity to talk to adults. It's hard to obtain stories from children. They tend to mix things up too much and then it's up to me to put all the elements together to create real stories. However, sometimes their imagination allows me to envision and create new stories, which is extremely hard work but in the end it is terribly satisfying.”

“The children seem to like you.”

“Above all, I hope they like my stories.”

Something in her husky and damaged voice evoked serenity and tranquility. Perhaps it was his tone or phrasing but it intrigued Genji.

“Most of their parents are a little reluctant to let me tell them tales. But in other parts of this country I have seen mothers and fathers and grandparents joining them in the audience.”

What did he just say?

“Was it before or after they did this to you?” Genji inquired.

“Long after. I've had this scar for years. I don't know exactly when I got it. It doesn't matter to me anymore.”

The omnic paused. The sun was now far away from the peaks and was shining on the valley. The lake shone with silvery reflections just like Duran's chrome steel.

“You speak so lightly of what was done to you.” Genji replied. “Why hide them under a blindfold if it doesn't matter?”

Duran untied the blindfold from his arm and emitted a small laugh.

“This headband is not to hide these marks.” he replied, showing his broken face. “Unfortunately, I've found that it tends to frighten children. The blindfold is not for me but for others and I need to meet others so I can tell my stories. Would you prefer that I put my blindfold back on, Genji?”

“No, that' s not necessary.”

“Those wounds belong to the past.” explained Duran as he put the blindfold on the floor. “I have accepted his scars and I don't blame the people who afflicted me. They had their reasons. Do you know this region, Genji?”

“No, this is the first time I have visited Nepal.”

“Nepal was unfortunately not spared by the Omnic Crisis. Towards the end of the conflict, units of omnics came up from the plains of Western China to join other contingents in India. Nepal and its army were unable to deal with this threat and the country paid a heavy price. Cities were torched and even the remotest villages did not escape destruction. It is said that Kathmandu burned for days. When the black smoke had cleared, the survivors could see that everything was ashes and desolation. Even the great stupas had been wiped out. The city was rebuilt afterwards, but it would never be the same again. The dead were countless.”

Genji must have recognised that he had a certain gift for telling stories. However, it was certainly not the kind of story that he should tell the children.

“Were you there?” asked Genji. “Did you take part in these things?”

Duran nodded.

“I don't know. If I was there, I don't remember anything about it. And if I wasn't, then I may have been involved in other exactions elsewhere. I didn't awaken until much later, when the Crisis was over. Everything I know about the war was either told to me or recalled to me.”

“That explains why you are the first omnic I've come across in this country.” Genji said.

“The omnics are not very popular with the people of this region and I understand them.”

“And yet you tell stories to children under their parents' windows. I don't know if you are brave or foolish.”

“Maybe I'm both.” laughs Duran in his hoarse voice.

Suddenly, silence fell between them. A powerful breeze swept across the lake and its surroundings, causing the waves to ripple under the force of the breeze. Genji felt the wind caressing his face and took a deep breath, before breaking the silence:

“What made you become a travelling storyteller, Duran?”

The teller didn't answer immediately and touched his chin with a pensive look.

“That's a very broad question you're asking me. I'll simply tell you that I wanted to show humans that we're not so very different. My people have done a lot of harm to this country and I know the same is true all over the world. Unlike many omnics, I did not want to hide from humans and their anger. I wanted to face it. I wanted to confront their resentment so that they could understand that I was not like the omnics who had destroyed their countries. I tried to convince them, to persuade them by going through the towns of the region but it was not very conclusive.”

Duran put his hand on his crushed forehead.

“So I took a different approach.” he said. “Long before the Crisis, many children across this country were forced to work at a very young age to support their families. The lucky ones still went to school, but the others had to work hard in the fields, in the mountains or in factories. These children work so hard that they no longer have any free time as if they had already become grown-up. So I thought maybe there was a way to lighten their burden and allow them to dream a little. So I remembered the tales and fables I had read in the past and began my activities as a travelling storyteller. It wasn't easy at first but my persistence now tends to pay off. As I travel, in each town or village I pass through, I gain more and more spectators. After several days in a village, I leave for a new place and a few months later, when I return, the children are delighted to find me again and I return to them with new stories gleaned here and there. The welcome isn't always perfect but it's getting better and better. From the omnic intruder, I have become the wandering storyteller.”

“And this life suits you?” Genji asked.

“Yes. I'm very happy about it. I love telling these tales, legends and fables. I touch many more people with my stories than with inflammatory speeches. Children call me by my first name and some parents have given me old clothes that they no longer use. In a pass far from here, an elderly woman from a farm shared old stories with me that she got from her grandmother about the mountain, the river, the snow, the fire, the moon and the sun. And I wish these children would share and tell my stories to those around them because if I can't talk to the adults, I hope to be able to talk to their children. That's what I discovered, Genji. Exchange is amazing: there are no losers, everyone is a winner. And that's what a travelling storyteller is, for everything he receives, he gives just as much.”

In front of all the omnic's candour, Genji couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“Maybe you can only talk to children because you are a child yourself.”

“Who knows?” replied Duran. “I may be the same age as many of them.”

The wind whistled over the plains, bending the dry grasses. Silence settled again, only disturbed by the yaks' distant complaints.

“I'm too used to monopolising speech. And you Genji? What brings you to these regions?” Duran asked.

Taken by surprise, he didn't know what to say to his interlocutor. For the first time in a while, he was surprised to ask himself the question. In any case, Genji had no reason to lie to him, just as he had no reason to tell him the truth.

“I'm going home.” he finally said.

“Oh! And where did you come from?”

“From Japan.”

“It's very far from here but according to what I've been told it's a beautiful country. I would like to be able to visit it one day.” 

“It is.” Genji pursued. “It's been a long time since I've been there.”

“Why did you leave?”

Because there wasn't a place for him anymore? Because the memories were too bitter and the wounds too deep? Because the country was too tied to a life he was trying to forget? And yet it was to Japan where he was returning.

“I had my reasons.” he answered.

Duran did not persevere in his search for information and Genji regretted having unwittingly ended the conversation.

“Forgive me, Mister Genji.” began Duran. “I do not wish to interfere in matters that do not concern me. But I can see that you are troubled.”

Surprised by the omnic's affirmation, Genji remained speechless for a moment but did not let himself be destabilised. 

“How can you tell? Something also surprises me, this is the second time you say "see" and yet you can't rest on your vision if what you told me is true. Are you playing a trick on me or have you not told me everything?”

Duran responded with a rasping laugh that came out of his voice modulator, his metal torso rising with every burst.

“I haven't lied to you, Genji.” he replied simply. “I'm sorry, but it's a bad habit of mine to use the term 'see' when it's not exactly the case. As for the rest, let's say that I have managed to discern your trouble by other means: the tone of your voice, your pensive silences and by what you emanate.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Duran stopped for a few moments and then put his hand on his chin to take a pensive posture.

“I don't think you've heard this story...”

“Enough with your stories.” Genji was impatient. “I'm not a child to whom you can tell your fables.”

“Calm now.” Duran resumed serenely. “Let me finish. You are not supposed to be unaware that in the aftermath of the Crisis, many omnics gathered in isolated communities, far away from human activities. I come from one of them. My community gathered in an isolated place abandonned by man, an old monastery in the middle of the mountains. However, the monks who lived there had left a lot of knowledge behind. We were just awakened omnics, children in your eyes, and we learned. We read, we listened, we studied the theological and philosophical teachings that the monks had left us and we exchanged and debated these theories then we applied them through meditation and rigorous work. And this is how we discovered the Iris.”

“The Iris?”

“Yes, the Iris. A supreme and universal entity that binds all the beings of the planet that live under its gaze.” Duran repeated solemnly.

“Is this another one of your fairy tales?” mocked Genji quite angrily. “It entertains your children, but not me.”

“It's not a fairy tale.” Duran replied, this time more insistent. “It's natural for you to find it strange, but I and my people have really outgrown our condition, thanks to the Iris. How could I otherwise have known that you were not only human?”

Duran took him by surprise and Genji was careful not to show it even though he felt a deaf anger rising inside him.

“What are you implying?” he said curtly.

“I had no intention of harming you, Genji.” Duran replied calmly. “Let's just say that as soon as we met there with the children, I felt that you were different. Even without my visual sensors, through the Iris, I perceive my environment and I see things that the human eye or the device cannot discern. I see your prosthetic arms and legs in all their artificiality, as well as your body under armour, your lungs, skin, nose, mouth and eyes in all their organics. And by the Iris, I also perceive the trouble and sorrow that dwells within your heart. I feel this shadow upon you Genji, a shadow that surrounds you and under it I perceive a light. It always shines and pierces the darkness, but the shadow is always present and threatens to suffocate the light.”

Genji remained inert, his eyes immersed in the chromium steel of Duran's face which sent his own reflection back to him. His image seemed blurred and indecipherable which could disappear at the slightest burst of wind.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“It's useless.” Genji reassured him. “You're right. I'm lost and I didn't dare to admit it to myself.”

Genji felt a gentle gust of wind on his face and took a deep breath as his attention wandered across the expanse of the lake. No one was waiting for him in Japan. What had gone through his mind to think that he still had a future in his homeland? His clan had betrayed him and he had betrayed them in return. His old friends probably hated him and his mentors would want his head on a spike. As for his brother, wherever he was, he had no idea what he would do if he had him face to face. Something rumbled within him at this thought, a devouring and cruel beast taking over his body. He made it disappear from his mind, remembering the memory of his father. What would he have suggested to him today if he had still been alive?

“Not all those who wander are lost.” Duran said with his kindly tone. “What did you expect to get when you returned home?”

“I don't know. I was hoping to find a past I had left behind, but you can't relive the past. This life no longer belongs to me since I lost my arms and legs.”

Perhaps he would have found someone in Japan who could further optimise his prostheses and make him look human again. But this had a price and his means were limited. He could have put his abilities at the disposal of someone else. A voice from the depths of his memory reminded him that: " mercenary work is unworthy of a Shimada ". Overwatch had been able to use his abilities to their best advantage, others could do so. He still had a good knowledge of the Japanese underworld and could offer his services to the highest bidder. But was he ready to return to this world? The people in this world had to obey and so he had to be prepared to bend to any order. Even the most barbaric ones.

“You said that your vocation was to be a storyteller.” announced Genji bitterly. “My vocation was to become a killer and today it is surely the only thing I excel at.”

“Was it with this sword that you killed?”

Duran had even seen that. Genji grasped the hilt of the sword and with a slow gesture he brought it out of its sheath to observe it. This blade "Ryū Ichimonji" had been at his side for years. He had carried it during his happy days and kept it during his darkest years. It had borne his anger and sorrow as well as his determination. But what could it be used nowadays? Overwatch was no more. All the members had returned to their former lives, which was impossible for him. What did it have to offer to others? Since his childhood, he had been trained to become a tool of destruction, a death machine. Genji remembered parts of the stories he was told as a child. Those of heroes and samurai who, after triumphing over their enemies, returned home to marry a woman or to be reunited with their families. They kept their katanas sealed in their scabbard, cultivated the land and prospered. But Genji had accomplished nothing. No one would wait for him at home. Perhaps it was not too late to turn back and return to Switzerland. Maybe someone would be waiting for him back there.

He had never been so alone. His katana had always been at his side, but it reminded him of his greatest successes as well as of his most terrible failures.

“Yes.”

He was afraid Duran would get scared, but the omnic didn't move.

“It's a heavy burden you have to carry.” he said. “But a sword is not just for killing, it is also for protecting. It's the person, good or bad, who wields the blade and chooses how he or she should use it. And you don't seem a bad person to me, Genji. I can feel that through the Iris.”

“How can you be sure? Your omnic divinity means nothing to me...”

Genji saw Duran raise his arm and pointed his finger at the Sun which continued its course in the sky above their heads.

“The Iris is like the Sun, Genji. All living beings bathe in its rays: plants, animals, humans, omnics. No one can escape its light, even in the deepest and darkest of caves, the sun's rays always manage to make their way through. The Iris sees beyond the material and perceives the imperceptible, what lies hidden in each of us. As one of my brothers said: ‘We are all one within the Iris’.”

This quote awakened in Genji distant memories, like a feeling of déjà vu.

“I've heard that before.”

“It's a strong possibility.” Duran added. “You may have heard it from the mouth of Tekhartha Mondatta. He is the leader of my community.”

Genji finally remembered where he had first heard that name. He was an omnic spiritual leader who travelled the world and met with several heads of state and international organizations while advocating for an end to discrimination against omnics and equality with humans.

“You say he is your brother?”

“Yes, just like me, he took refuge in this mountain monastery where he followed the monks' teachings. He was one of the first to open up to the Iris. He is the respected leader of the Shambali and a real model for me.”

“The Shambali?”

“This is the name of our order, those who live secluded in the mountains. Mondatta is the wisest and bravest of our order. Against the advice of our community, he decided to leave the monastery in order to spread the idea that omnics and humans were similar, not as beings of flesh or metal, but as souls within the Iris.”

“Was it because he was a model for you that you decided to go in his footsteps?”

“That's right.” replied Duran. “Shortly after he left, I decided to leave the monastery myself and face the world and humans with the results we know.

The omnic turned his head towards Genji and then pointed to his crushed forehead with his finger and let out a slight snigger. Without realising it, Genji also started to puff. Both laughed for several seconds.

“Through the holonet, I know that Mondatta is still pursuing his quest for the benefit of all of us.” Duran continued. “For my part, I'm trying to do things my own way. I tell my stories and interact with people.”

“He's pushing you to keep going.” nodded Genji.

“That's it and I don't let anything take me away from my path.”

With these words, Duran put his blindfold over the crushed part of his face and stood up, leaning on his walking stick.

“You say that every living being is bound in the Iris.” Genji said as he stood up. “But would it be possible for a human like me to access this Iris?”

Duran put his old coat back on and readjusted his hood, then answered in his hushed voice.

“In principle, if I can perceive all living beings, nothing would prevent humans from accessing the Iris.”

“In that case, teach me.”

“No, no, no. I'm a storyteller, not a teacher.” Duran replied. “If you want to learn, you'll need better teachers than me.”

The monastery. Genji hastily put his sword back in its scabbard, tucked his cloak in and put his travel bag in his back.

“Where is it?” he quickly asked. “Travel with me to the monastery, you will show me the way.”

“I can't.” Duran replied. “When I left the monastery, I lost the right to go back. This is the rule of our order.”

Genji felt his enthusiasm fade away little by little before the omnic lifted his finger towards the peaks that dominated them.

“The monastery is in this mountain range, among the highest peaks and the most dangerous crevices.”

“Difficulty is not a problem for me.” Genji replied with a smile.

Genji extended his open hand towards the omnic.

“Thank you very much, Duran. This conversation has been more than salutary.”

“For both of us.” Duran added, shaking Genji's hand. “I enjoyed our discussion very much and I hope you will find what you are looking for.”

Genji hoped so too. He didn't know anything about the Iris and all those omnic superstitions. Yet his curiosity outweighed his worries. The story seemed absurd, but he wanted to believe it. He had faith in what Duran had told him and he believed in his sincerity.

“Take care of yourself, Duran.” Genji said friendly. “I wish I could meet you again if I come back in this region.”

“If you get to the monastery, tell them you've come on behalf of Duran.” the omnic replied. “I don't know how most of them will react when they see a human at their doorstep. Be careful, Genji.”

So they parted on the lake shore. Genji had forgotten the road he was supposed to take. He had left Harāēkō and Japan behind. His mind and all his attention was turned to the mountains. The unknown awaited him at the top, but this only strengthened his determination.

“When you return.” echoed Duran's hoarse voice in the distance behind him. “I hope you'll have stories to tell me.”

Genji didn't answer him, but when he would see the omnic storyteller again, he could tell him about the long climbs on bare rock, the exhausting walks in the thick powder snow, the white and blue as far as the eye could see, the nights spent in snowdrifts and caves sheltered from the heavy snow. Genji wanted to imagine all this but his mind was elsewhere than on the frozen and hostile summits.

He was thinking of this mysterious monastery perched on the top of the highest mountains where a community of omnic hermits lived. They might have the answers to his questions. If his own people could no longer help him, then the omnics could certainly do so. This Iris could offer him the peace he longed for. Unless he was only pursuing fantasies, but he had nothing to lose. No one would have believed him if he had told others this fable. But Genji seemed to believe it. He wanted to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> As promised, I am back with this chapter focusing on the youngest of the Shimada. I had this chapter on Genji in mind for a very long time and I was eager to tackle it because it is a character who went through major changes between the end of Overwatch and the video game canon. It's a very interesting process that should lead him to meet the Shambali and by extension Zenyatta and what will push him to change. 
> 
> As much to say that it was a real pleasure to write about him and his dilemmas at the time of the story. I had a lot of fun creating Duran, which is a bit of a Zen before its time, a starter before the main course that will be Zenyatta. In short, I'm very eager to arrive at the meeting between the two heroes and   
> this chapter lays the first stone of this intrigue.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it came very quickly and I am very happy to be able to maintain such a pace for the moment but I hope you don't get too used to it. Thanks again to Etsukazu for his careful rereading and advice!As a reminder, it is a fellow author who wrote a fiction; A Prince of Dragonstone, about the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire (A.K.A Game of Thrones for the fans of the series). You should go read it if you like this universe and the characters. You should go read it if you like the universe and the characters.
> 
> For the next chapter, we'll go back to a new character that I haven't yet tackled, and for those who wonder about the general plot of the fiction, chapter 7 should provide some clues for the rest.
> 
> In any case, do not hesitate to give me your opinion on the chapter and the story in general in the comments, I would be very happy to read them.
> 
> See you soon and take care!


	7. Fareeha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha Amari returns to Egypt to meet with an agent from Helix.

** FAREEHA **

All she could see was blue. For several minutes she hadn't taken her eyes off the panorama. Flying over the clouds that were rapidly passing beneath her, she let herself float and pictured herself feeling the cold wind on her face. Then the plane dropped in altitude and the sky disappeared under a thick, immaculate layer.

Fareeha felt her body move upwards, restrained by the seat belt around her groin. She was unable to hide a sigh of relief. It had been a long and rather trying flight. Her right-hand passenger, a suit-wearing man, probably exhausted from work or jet lag, had fallen asleep as soon as the plane took off in Toronto. During the five-hour flight, he had shared his snores and groans with all the other passengers on the aircraft. Minutes earlier, the stewardess had just woke him up so he could put on his seat belt for landing. Like the other passengers, Fareeha wished she had done this much sooner.

Through the porthole, she saw the clouds disappear, giving way to large ochre areas scattered with green spots in various places. As the plane began its descent, she was able to discern the structures and the city below. The latter stretched as far as the eye could see until it disappeared on the horizon under an azure sky. This vision was so familiar and yet so far away compared to times spent in Canada.

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are starting our descent towards Sphinx International Airport. Do not remove your safety belts and do not get up from your seats before the aircraft comes to a complete stop. Shuttles and taxis are available to take you to Cairo or Giza. For more information, automated advisors are at your disposal at the airport. Thank you for choosing Aeolus Airlines and we hope to see you soon on our flights.”_

Fareeha glanced through the porthole and was able to see the airport: a wide, levelled expanse that swore amid the dwellings that phagocytised the space around the structure. A long time ago this airport was far from the city but now it was surrounded by buildings and flats. Cairo's urban area knew no boundaries, constantly pressed by an ever-growing population that was pushing the city's borders deep into the desert in the arid areas, far from the Nile. Even as a child, Fareeha realised that the city gradually devoured its surroundings. When she was old enough to understand, she remembered heated debates broadcast on the holonet between Egyptian politicians who announced that soon the pyramids of Giza would be razed to make way for new buildings. In the end, the pyramids had remained intact, as had the Sphinx. The city had assimilated them and had piled up around these thousand-year-old monuments, threatening at any moment to consume them, as soon as its hunger demanded it.

The aircraft slowed down progressively and Fareeha saw the engines of the left wing rotate a notch so that the thrusters could begin to make a gradual descent. This manoeuvre caused the aircraft to bounce a few times, but once the engines of both wings were turned down and the aircraft came to a complete stop, it was able to continue its long fall. Some people, not accustomed to this type of landing, watched the ground slowly approaching, as if the plane was dropping in slow motion. Fareeha didn't worry about it. She was used to flying, both civilian and military. She had experienced much more delicate landings and in much riskier situations where the aircraft was pitching and shaking in bad weather.

A few moments later, they were able to take off their belts and leave their seats. Fareeha got up, readjusted her black leather jacket, retrieved her bag from the luggage compartment and entered the line of passengers heading for the exit. She slipped the bag's strap over her shoulder and wedged it into her back. When she arrived at the door of the plane, she unhooked the sunglasses from her collar and, after a step outside, she smelled the dry and burning Egyptian air filling her lungs. She could feel the sun's rays on her face and a light warm wind blowing over her skin. This sensation brought back so many memories. At that very moment she realised how much she had missed this land.

Canada was a quiet, peaceful, and soothing country, like a flowing river, only troubled by a few drops that altered its flow. However, this always lasted only for a while because it always returned to its quietude. During the last few months, she had become used to life in Canada again and her life seemed like a long, quiet river to her. But if Canada was a serene river, then Egypt was a restless brazier. Her return to this land was warm. The zephyr and the sun had rekindled in her the embers of a sleeping fire. She put on her glasses and looked up to the sky and the sun, letting herself be touched by its rays.

Following the other passengers, she went down the boarding stairs to get to the airport terminal. Some of them could not stand the temperature change so well. Fareeha saw people taking out handkerchiefs to wipe their faces, others used bottles of water to drink or to wet their heads. In front of her, a woman showed a fan from her bag and ventilated herself so hard that Fareeha felt the air go through her hair. She was used to the heavy Egyptian heat and even months after she left the country, this had not changed.

“Lieutenant!”

She turned her attention in the direction that voice came from. About ten metres further on, two silhouettes in the distance were watching the queue of passengers. The smaller of the two was waving at her. On taking a closer look, Fareeha recognised the smaller figure and hurried out of the line to meet them.

“Professor Kiritoru.” she said, taking off her sunglasses. “I am glad to see you again.”

Arata Kiritoru had remained the same as the image she had kept in her memories. A small, plump man with cheerful features, whose face exuded happiness. His wide smile that always spread from one ear to the other and behind his round glasses, it was possible to discern in his eyes the same mischievousness as before. He wore a white shirt with a bow tie around his neck. She remembered that he liked to wear it no matter what the circumstances. On top of that, he had large brown trousers and wore his jacket on his arm to survive the heat. Years had passed, and the professor's dark hair had lost some colour and his forehead had become bald. His wrinkles, however, had marked his smile and candour deep within his face.

“It's been an exceptionally long time since I've seen you, Lieutenant Amari! You've grown so much since the last time we met.” the professor exclaimed with sincerity, shaking her hand.

At that time, Fareeha remembered that he was taller than her, by at least one head. The years had taken their toll on her too. Adolescence had also played a big part.

“Please, Professor, call me Fareeha.”

Surprised at first, Professor Kiritoru let out a nervous laugh.

“You are trying to make me nostalgic, Fareeha.”

She was reminded of another person by a clears throat. Even the professor seemed to have forgotten that person's existence.

“My apologies!” he hastened to add. “I forgot my manners. Fareeha, I suppose you know Axelle Rosado, General Inspector and head of Helix Security sites.”

Obviously Fareeha had recognized her. The two women had spoken many times in holo-conference over the past few weeks. Axelle Rosado had a tanned face and long wavy hair that went down to her shoulders. Her penetrating hazelnut eyes were watching her, and a flattering smile appeared on her fleshy lips, underlined by a mole on the right side of her mouth. Fareeha couldn't give her an age, but she assumed that Mrs. Rosado might be a few years older than her.

“Glad to finally be able to talk to you face to face, Lieutenant Amari.” Rosado declared, holding out her hand.

“Likewise.”

Fareeha then noticed the airship on the runway far behind them.

“I didn't expect this kind of welcoming committee.” she said. “I could very well have made it to the facility by myself.”

“That's how we do things at Helix.” Axelle Rosado replied. “For his part, Professor Kiritoru was very insistent on accompanying me. I didn't dare refusing him.”

“I was very persuasive.” the Professor added with a wink.

“Well, if that' s all, I suggest we discuss it further in the shuttle to clear the runway.” said Rosado. “I am afraid that if we stay here any longer, the airport security might be seriously disrupted, and I don't want Professor Kiritoru to faint either.”

Fareeha realised that the professor's face was red and shiny. On his forehead there were drops of sweat, which he hastily wiped off with a tissue from his pocket.

“You are right, Mrs. Rosado. Sunstroke is never far away for those who neglect the sun's strength. Let's get going, Fareeha, if you don't mind.” 

“I'm right behind you.” she said, putting her sunglasses back on her nose.

When he turned his back to reach the aircraft, Fareeha could see the trail of sweat dripping down the professor's shirt. Kiritoru seemed miles away from his native Japan. As for Rosado, she looked totally at ease in this arid environment. Dressed simply in black shirt and brown trousers, everything suggested that she could stand the warmth as well as she could.

“You've been in a Kolibri 3 before, I presume?” asked Rosado.

“Yes, the Egyptian army has about ten of them, but they are not frequently used. At least on the field.”

“They're expensive.” Rosado replied. “I understand that the Egyptian military prefers to preserve them.”

“And you use it just as a taxi?” Fareeha asked.

The remark made Axelle Rosado smile.

“Otherwise, they gather dust.” 

The Kolibri 3 chartered by Helix had a black hull and wings, contrary to the light colour of the basic model. On its flanks, the H and the S of the multinational company could be seen in yellow. The aircraft's drop ramp was deployed, revealing the Kolibri's hold ready to take them in. Preceded by the inspector and the professor, Fareeha climbed the ramp with sure steps. The compartment had been emptied to leave only the bare necessities, including the seats with straps placed on either side of the hold's interior.

“Sit yourself down, Professor.” Rosado said in an authoritative tone. “I'll get you something to hydrate you.”

Professor Kiritoru, who was wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, nodded without a word.

“Take a seat, Lieutenant Amari. We are leaving immediately.” 

The drop ramp rose rapidly until it closed behind them. Fareeha heard the engines start up and whirr. Without delay, she moved to the seat next to the teacher. She felt the aircraft slowly but surely leave the ground and when she saw Kiritoru fasten the safety straps on his seat, she imitated him. At the same time, Axelle Rosado came out of the cockpit with a military canteen.

“Drink Professor, it will make you feel better.”

“Thank you kindly, Madam.” the Professor replied, taking a long drink. “What would I do without you?”

“What you are used to do, but far less hydrated.”

This made the Professor smile, and he grinned as he closed the gourd's lid while the ship finally lifted off.

“I will never get comfortable with the country's harsh climate.”

“You have to be more careful.” Rosado said, less conciliatory. “We can't afford that anything happens to you.”

“Yes, you're right. I shall be more careful in the future.”

Fareeha didn't think she would see this kind of exchange when she got on that aircraft. She looked over her shoulder at a window to see outside. The cityscape flashed before her eyes along with more modest ochre-coloured dwellings, while in the distance she could see buildings with glass walls. The city seemed frozen in time, wedged between the traditional archaic structures of Egyptian architecture and the oversized, modern buildings. Nevertheless, the latter were much rarer in the urban area of Cairo, but Fareeha could discern buildings under construction that were gradually growing among domes and minarets.

Egypt was slowly being transformed, however, to the expense of the poorest. New districts were created: business and tourist districts, but these replaced housing and working-class homes, forcing families to relocate to the city outskirts. This only increased tensions within the city, and the situation worsened year by year. There was so much to do here. 

“Thank you for accepting our invitation, Lieutenant Amari.” Axelle Rosado resumed. “This is not a very conventional approach, but I really want you to know that we would be very interested in having you with us.”

The fact that Fareeha was here proved that Rosado had proved to be persuasive. Their messages and calls in holovideos over the past few months had given Fareeha a better understanding of who she was dealing with. Rosado had the makings of a seasoned, charming and persistent headhunter. She had praised Helix Security International and what they were doing in Egypt: supporting the local authorities to ensure the security of the urban area of Cairo and actively participating in the development of new technologies.

Both hesitant and flattered by her request, Fareeha was nonetheless interested. Rosado had been very insistent to the point of offering to pay her the flight from Canada to Egypt so that she could come and visit the installation before making up her mind.

“I'm curious.” she replied evasively, not wanting to commit herself to empty promises.

Fareeha felt the aircraft lose speed. It slowed down gradually, anticipating their descent to the site. She heard the thrusters turning, indicating that the craft was going into hover mode to land. After a few seconds and a jump from the vehicle, the engines shut down and she removed her seat belt. She was expecting the ramp to open, but it remained closed.

“Before I let you enter the site, Lieutenant, I need to clear up a point with you.” said Rosado.

“Couldn't this be done before?” Fareeha asked, wondering.

“It's quite precise and delicate. Besides, I needed to talk about it with you, face to face.” Rosado replied with a pleasant smile.

Fareeha remained impassive, but Professor Kiritoru's surprised and circumspect face gave her the idea that he didn't know about this latest setback either.

A holographic screen appeared from Axelle Rosado's palm. Several interfaces emerged on the screen, which Helix's agent quickly scanned through with the fingers of her other hand.

“Lieutenant. You've already been to this place while it was still under the supervision of Overwatch, right?”

“Yes, my mother brought me here when I was a child.”

She finally figured out what it was all about.

“Do you have any memories of the base?”

She remembered the first time she had held a gun. She remembered the commander's grin, the engineer's hearty laugh, her mother's angry eyes and a young man's charming smile.

“I recall the people more than I can remember the place.”

“And what did your mother tell you about this place?”

She had looked up from her tablet to observe Fareeha. Axelle Rosado's tone was sharp, direct and her gaze, inquisitive.

“That it was a military base that had been built during the Omnic Crisis.” Fareeha replied.

“Is that all?”

Professor Kiritoru stirred to remove his belt.

“I don't see where you' re going with this.” Fareeha remarked.

“I personally doubt it.”

Rosado's insistence seemed to bother Professor Kiritoru, who tried to defuse the tension:

“Mrs. Rosado, I don't think all this is necessary.”

“On the contrary, Professor, it’s essential.” Helix's agent replied. “I’m in charge of the security of this facility and I would like Lieutenant Amari to answer my question.”

“And what happens if I don't answer?” the woman frown concerned. “Will you take me back to the airport for me to go home?”

“We'd all like to avoid that.” Axelle Rosado said with a broad smile on her lips. “In the past, your mother, under the supervision of Overwatch, ran this facility and I wonder if she would have shared any specific knowledge about it with you.”

The inspector from Helix pressed on and Fareeha was annoyed by the question-and-answer game. However, she knew that she had to be careful and keep certain reserves. Kiritoru's face betrayed his embarrassment and Fareeha wanted to put an end to this ridiculous questioning.

“My mother and I had a complicated relationship.” she said wearily. “But like any relationship between a mother and her daughter, I had conversations with her that never left the private sphere and never will.”

Fareeha saw Professor Kiritoru's cheeks turn red but it was not him she had to persuade.

“Is my answer okay with you?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” replied Axelle Rosado with a satisfied look. “We are on the same wavelength. But before continuing, one very last thing, Lieutenant.”

Its holographic interface revealed a document marked with a circular logo that Fareeha recognised at first glance.

“When Overwatch was managing this base, whether for its agents or certain visitors, a confidentiality agreement had been put in place to prohibit them from divulging confidential information or risk heavy sanctions. Helix Security has maintained this approach in the continuity of Overwatch, and we have also recovered the various contracts established with the former Overwatch agents. Here is yours.”

On the document, Fareeha recognised her name, first name, place of birth, age and many other private details. The document was more than ten years old and she had no recollection of completing it at all. But the signature on the document seemed strangely familiar to her.

“Your contract is about the final degree of confidentiality of the base.” Rosado added. “So as a visitor, you could access all the more remote parts of the infrastructure, but you were bound by secrecy about what you saw or heard.”

“Yet I have never seen this document.” she replied.

“Indeed, it was your mother who filled it out for you back then.”

Rosado drew up a confidentiality agreement that was the same as the previous one. At the top of the document, Fareeha was able to make out a first and last name: Ana Amari.

“Your mother signed your contract with her own signature. This is not surprising from her. She was a high-ranking official in the organisation and you were a child under her responsibility. For her daughter, she fulfilled a simple formality. It' s only right and proper for a mother and it is not prejudicial.”

“So why are you showing me this?” Fareeha asked impatiently.

“Simply so that you can finally fill out your confidentiality agreement yourself.”

Ana Amari's information and signature evaporated from the contract annotated with Fareeha's name and a holographic pen appeared on the side of the interface. Axelle Rosado gently grabbed it and held it out in her direction. Fareeha picked it up, went through it and completed the contract before she signed it.

“Can we go on now?” she asked.

Kolibri 3's drop ramp opened at the same time as the holographic interface disappeared from Rosado's palm.

“After you, Lieutenant.” she announced.

As she descended the ramp, Fareeha realised that the hangar in which the Kolibri had just landed was large, large enough to store five other similar aircrafts. Large bluish neon lights illuminated it giving the place a feeling of coolness, which contrasted with the warm colours she could see through the large opening that allowed the jets to exit the infrastructure. As the air was much cooler than outside, the base was certainly air-conditioned. About ten people were busy with their tasks. Some discreetly observed their arrival.

Fareeha followed Professor Kiritoru and Axelle Rosado through the hangar to a corridor and down to a large hall with lifts.

“Take this, Lieutenant Amari. Otherwise, you risk alerting base security.”

Axelle Rosado handed her a badge bearing the word "visitor" in black letters and her name in smaller format. Professor Kiritoru himself had just taken it out of his pocket and attached it to his jacket.

“Of course, there is nothing left to chance.” Fareeha replied, hanging it on her belt.

“That' s my job, Lieutenant. We'll go to my office first.”

The lift took them to the upper floors of the facility and when the doors opened, old memories came back to Fareeha's mind. Offices lined a long corridor and on the opposite side there was a large bay window overlooking the huge complex.

Fareeha lingered for a few moments to observe what was going on below. Engineers maintained the field vehicles under the watchful eye of the security teams patrolling the complex. A half dismantled Kolibri 3 was strewn over part of the space while an intensive training exercise was taking place nearby. Fareeha could not hear the instructor shouting to his subordinates but she could see his mouth twisting to the rhythm of the exclamations and the orders being given. Looking around her, Fareeha realized how huge the structure was. As a child, she had already noticed that this place was big, but now she realized that she had really underestimated the size of the facility. After all, it was the site of a thousand-year-old ancient vestige.

The Pyramid of Khafre had not survived the Omnium Crisis. In the last years of the conflict, Omnic titans had stormed the area and in order to shoot them down, the army was forced to call in fighter jets who bombed the area. The titans were destroyed but the archaeological site of Giza had been seriously damaged. The Pyramid of Cheops and the Sphinx had miraculously survived the attack, but the assault had destroyed the rest of the historic site. Most of the necropolis had disappeared. The Pyramid of Khafre had been torn open and the fall of a titan had caused a side of the building to collapse. At the end of the war, with the support of the United Nations, Overwatch decided to set up a military base on this location, replacing the old pyramid with an infrastructure of the same shape that could house a garrison and military equipment to counter any attack, whether omnic or not. This new modern pyramid was now part of the urban landscape of Giza, like the other monuments, but most of the city's inhabitants were unaware of what was waiting for them in the pyramid's shadow.

“Fareeha? Is everything alright?”

The comment got her out of her thoughts.

“Excuse me, I was elsewhere.”

“Do you have some memories of the base after all?” the Professor inquired with curiosity.

“A few snippets... “

Fragments of memories came back to her as sudden flashes, far too fleeting to leave an impression on her mind. Surprisingly, the walls of the corridor reminded her of something, but instead of the black and yellow logo of the Helix Security company, she saw the clean circle of Overwatch.

After passing several rooms dedicated solely to the administration of the base, Axelle Rosado brought them into what seemed to be her office or watchtower. Three of the four walls of the room were large bay windows that looked out over several parts of the complex. In a way, Fareeha assumed that this was a way for her to keep an eye and control on everything that was happening on her base.

Despite this, the place remained sober. A no-frills desk stood at the back of the room next to a holographic control table, while closer to her, a red sofa had been placed between a chest of drawers and a storage cabinet. Helix's inspector pointed to the chairs in front of her desk.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Rosado inquired.

“A green tea for me, please.” the Professor announced as he settled down.

“I'll take that too.” Fareeha added.

After putting her travel bag on the floor, she sat down on the chair, saw Rosado walk past her to another piece of furniture and noticed an old coffee maker and electric kettle. She would also have liked to stretch out her neck to see what was going on through the bays because from her seat it was impossible for her to do so. Fareeha would have liked to get up and go and have a look, but she would have found it far too intrusive. The room seemed perfectly soundproof as there was no unwanted noise coming from outside.

Fareeha heard the door open in her back and looked over her shoulder to discover that the knob had been pulled by an omnic far too large to get through the office door without bending down.

“What had we said about the 'knock before you enter' rule, Okoro?” Rosado urged.

Okoro, whose face consisted of an emaciated figure with a single red eye socket on a slender body with long limbs, lowered his head to examine the threshold of the door he had just opened.

“Technically, I haven't entered the room yet.” he replied from a mechanical tone.

Under everyone's circumspect gaze, Okoro knocked the office door with the back of his fist and entered the room before closing behind him.

“What's going on, Okoro? Is there a problem?” Kiritoru asked, concerned.

“Professor Touati sent me to fetch you for the series of tests for the beginning of the month. We're just waiting for you.”

“No! Was that today?" wondered Kiritoru. “It's not Wednesday though.”

“Professor Touati brought it forward to today but as she suspected, you didn't read her memo.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic.” Kiritoru replied, leaping up from his seat. “Ladies, please forgive me but I'm called elsewhere. I shouldn't be long.”

“I'll keep your tea warm, replied Rosado.”

The professor nodded and left the room, escorted by Okoro who gently closed the office door behind them, leaving Fareeha and Axelle Rosado together. The latter handed Fareeha a hot cup and Fareeha thanked her.

“Did you know the Professor for a long time?” Rosado questioned as she sat down at her desk.

“Since I was a child.”

“Do you find that he changed a lot since then?”

“No.” Fareeha answered, holding back from giggling. “He's still the same.”

“He may be absent-minded and sometimes clumsy, but he's a truly brilliant mind.” said Rosado with a smile.

“That's why you recruited him.”

As Rosado took a sip of coffee, Fareeha noticed that she couldn't take her eyes off her.

“So you already know about this?”

Was she going to keep playing this game for long? She had got tired of it on the shuttle and didn't want to waste any more time with it. Fareeha thought it was time to put an end to this lying poker game.

“Of course, she says in a confident but playful voice. But since this is confidential information, I would not allow myself to discuss it with you, even if you are the manager of this site.”

“Well, well,” sighed Rosado, who seemed just as annoyed by this deaf exchange. “I think it is useless to keep up this false pretence towards Anubis.”

“I completely agree.”

“How did you learn this?”

“My mother told me, by making me swear not to tell anyone.”

“Was she right to do so? You were just a child.” Rosado replied.

An artificial intelligence as powerful as Anubis was not to be taken lightly. Similar artificial intelligences had started the war which had endangered all Mankind. Super-powerful beings with titanic capacities, manufactured and shaped by the most brilliant human minds of the planet, who had to govern huge human infrastructures on a scale never seen before. These IAs were destined to revolutionise the way we all live. They were to administer cities, transport networks, logistics, communication, security. The perspectives were infinite. The scientific community had described them as "god program" AIs, as their sphere of action was boundless.

But the first task they were assigned was to manage the Omnium, the colossal factories that produced omnics without interruption. This was a very costly error. Through the Omnium, those AIs had access to a workforce, a strike force that allowed them to carry out a global uprising of the omnics against human beings. War ensued and the neutralisation of the omniums became the priority of all human armies. When Overwatch arrived in Giza, it had discovered that a god program AI was present there. The organization had taken drastic measures to contain this artificial intelligence. Built by Overwatch, the entire pyramid-shaped structure was used to keep the AI under sleep.

Everything Fareeha knew she got from her mother and she never doubted her. Ana Amari was not a liar and she certainly would not deceive her daughter. Fareeha had kept her promise and despite her mother's disappearance, she was not going to betray her trust.

"I was young, but I kept the secret. My mother made it clear to me that this was not a child's secret but something much more worrying."

“So, you can see how paradoxical it is to run this site.” Rosado added. “Officially, we are a military structure aimed at maintaining order and security in the city of Cairo and its surroundings. Formally, we keep this artificial intelligence out of harm's way, while at the same time trying to study it to neutralise it completely. Some members of the base are not even aware of Anubis' presence on-site, so we must reconcile the need for secrecy and trust within the team. It's terribly tricky to handle.”

Fareeha wanted to add that it was the same when Overwatch was managing the base, but she felt it was not necessarily a good idea to raise it. She preferred to drink her tea and burned her throat with it.

“The advantage here for me is that you are already aware of the ambivalent state of the site.” Rosado resumed. “That makes it easier for me and gets me straight to the point.”

“You want to give me a job.”

The Helix agent nodded slowly and pushed a button on her control table next to the desk. A holographic panel appeared, separating the two women.

“Before we go into the details again, I would like to ask you a question.”

“Please do.” Fareeha said, willing to answer.

“How do you see your future right now?”

Fareeha looked down, pensive and concerned about her reply, but Rosado did not let her formulate it:

“Your seven-year contract with the Egyptian army ended three months ago, if I am not mistaken. Yet I believe that the army asked you to renew it and you refused. Why did you decline?”

“I needed to take a break. I enlisted at a fairly young age and I wanted to take some time for myself and my family. Mainly my father.”

“In Canada?

“Yes.”

“In which region?” Rosado asked.

“British Columbia, above Vancouver.” 

“An Egyptian mother and a Canadian father. That's unusual.”

“It depends on your point of view.” Fareeha eluded.

“I didn't mean to be indiscreet, Lieutenant.” Rosado reassured. “I know what I'm talking about, my father is Mexican and my mother Canadian.”

“From where in Canada?”

“Montreal. Ever been there?”

“A few times, but never enough for me.” Fareeha replied. “I know mostly Vancouver and its surroundings. I spent my teenage years there and did some of my schooling there before joining the army.”

Rosado picked up a bunch of coffee and typed on her command table.

“I don't know very much about Canada personally.” Helix's agent stated. “I lived there long ago, but my parents moved to the United States before the Crises began.”

She paused and looked at the holographic panel again. From her position, Fareeha could not see what the officer was consulting.

“Why did you join the Egyptian army?” Rosado inquired, putting his chin on her hands. “The Canadian army didn't suit you? It would have allowed you to be closer to your father.”

“Canada is not Egypt. The country's situation is more than uncertain, and it was my intention to serve a country that required assistance.”

Was this also what her mother would have wanted? She remembered her parents' arguments. Her mother who desired a brighter future for her country. It was a long time ago. Fareeha was a young girl and all she wanted was to get into Overwatch, to protect those in need.

When she asked her mother to train her in martial arts, she agreed on the condition that her daughter would remember that what she would learn would be used to defend herself and protect others. However, her mother would never have agreed to let her daughter go down the same path and join the army, but this was Fareeha's wish and today she had only one parent to disapprove her choices.

“My mother always told me that the Crisis had done Egypt no good, that it had taken everything from it, and that even Overwatch had not been able to do much to change the situation. I wanted to be part of Overwatch as a child, it was a childhood dream and my desire to serve and protect those in need remains the same. That's the reason why I signed up.”

“I had access to your service records.” Axelle Rosado added as she finished her cup. “Your superiors are very complimentary: competent, disciplined, rigorous, excellent knowledge of combat tactics and techniques. Your military career seems to be well established.”

“Thank you.”

“Hence my initial question. What would you wish for your future?”

Fareeha tried to put together the answer she had thought of before, but she preferred to declare from scratch:

“To tell the truth, I wouldn't know how to answer you...”

“The Egyptian army no longer appeals to you?” Rosado asked.

“I've learned a lot in these seven years but ... I don't think it's what I wanted when I joined.”

“That is?” Rosado wondered as Fareeha discreetly blew on her tea to cool it down.

“Let's just say that during my years in service, I may have been sent to scouting grounds or risky areas to assess potential threats, but very often it was largely limited to surveillance and border control. With hindsight, we feel that our work is superfluous and that we would be much more useful elsewhere.”

Her father could have added an old saying of his ancestors: "Those who let the forest burn are not the worthiest to guard it". What's the point of maintaining the integrity of the borders when the country was fragmenting from within, and risked collapsing on itself at any time?

“I believe I understand what you are saying. Do you have the impression that you are wasting your talents in the Egyptian army?”

Fareeha tried not to choke on her tea sip and coughed. Taken by surprise, she wouldn't have said it like that at the risk of appearing awfully arrogant. But deep down she shares this feeling.

Axelle Rosado handed her a tissue to clean up the spilled tea.

“Listen Lieutenant, there is no denying that you are an outstanding military officer and I think your talents can be put to better use, especially within Helix. That's what I'm offering you, a position in the security section of the base for a five-year term. You would be part of an intervention team with the rank of Lieutenant, subordinate to a Captain. You would intervene inside and outside the facility for various operations ranging from policing to pacification. Cairo is no longer as safe as it used to be, and crime is spreading to all layers of the city. It is our responsibility to protect the population from what is outside the base but also from what is inside.”

Until now, Fareeha has been travelling on familiar ground. Her exchanges with Rosado over the past few months had given her a clear picture of the position she was being offered, but she feared that she would find herself in a position of luxurious security guard.

“I have some concerns, though.” Fareeha objected. “I don't want to be confined to just monitoring. I want to go out into the field as soon as the circumstances require. You told me that the command chain of your security forces is more flexible. I hope this is the case. Moreover, I'm afraid that I don’t fully belong here. From what I have seen, you have a large scientific staff working on several military and technological innovations, not counting the teams that are dealing with Anubis. I'm a fighter and my talents are limited to this field...

Rosado raised one of his fingers to interrupt her.

“I hear your concerns.” she explained. “The activity isn't lacking, Lieutenant, I assure you. The captains of the intervention teams have plenty of room for manoeuvre. They are professional soldiers like you, and we rely on their experience. Seeing your skills, I can assure you that the rank of captain is within your reach. I reaffirm that you were made to work with us. I have also read that during your last year of service, you actively took part in a combat exoskeleton project for the Egyptian army.”

Fareeha hid her surprise. Rosado should not have had access to such information. Everything surrounding this project was classified as secret, and her army superiors had clearly insisted on it.

“That's right.” Fareeha replied soberly.

“But I understand that the project ended abruptly. Do you know why?”

The army had invoked its lack of means to carry out the rest of the project. Nevertheless, she had enjoyed working on this program, even if it had only lasted a few months, she had invested herself fully into the project. The prototype combat armour that had been presented to her flew, protected its wearer from bullets and shocks, and had an armament that could neutralise motorised vehicles. As soon as she put it on and flew away with it, Fareeha had envisioned so many possibilities and more. With these exoskeletons and their arsenal, each soldier could stand up to an entire troop. This could change the way of operating in hostile terrain and gave significant advantages to its users. A true technological marvel.

But the project had come to an end and Fareeha felt totally helpless, and then she gradually forgot about it. Perhaps she had taken this whole project to heart too much? Perhaps it was the disappointment of not having carried it through? Or was it the feeling that she would never be able to fly so freely again? She had been thinking about it for a long time since she left the army and it weighed heavily on her decision to return within the Egyptian forces. She had come to express doubts about the real reasons for the abandonment of the project. 

“No, I don't know.” said Fareeha, who found it hard to hide her dismay.

She finished her tea while Rosado got up to meet her in front of her office. Rosado retrieved the empty cup and went to put it in a corner of the room, passing along the glass window, until she stopped to look through it.

“You should come and see, Lieutenant.”

Fareeha joined Helix's agent and inspected the shed below. Her eyes soon fixed on a part of the complex, away from the rest of the activities, where about twenty people were gathered around what seemed like machines and control consoles. In the middle of all this, a steel plate was attracting all the attention. Above the platform, a silhouette was floating, stabilised in flight by the thrusters of a darkly shaded armour.

She had trouble believing what she was seeing. It awakened in her an interest that she thought was long gone. Fareeha remained fascinated, almost frozen in front of the window, watching the armour levitate.

“Is that what I think?

“Yes, that's exactly what you think.” Rosado hastened to reply. “Perhaps you'd prefer if we looked at it more closely?”

Fareeha didn't even hear herself answer 'yes'.

A few minutes later, the two women crossed the shed to reach the platform, which Fareeha never took her eyes off. The closer she got, the more she was able to distinguish the armour. It was indeed the same exoskeleton prototype she had tested before, but this new model seemed much more advanced than the previous ones. The wings and engines attached to her back had been streamlined and lightened, probably for the sake of weight and stabilisation. This had been the main flaw in the prototypes she had tested so far.

The exoskeleton had almost nothing to do with what she knew. Where harnesses and straps once held the various pieces of equipment together, Fareeha realised that the pilot had real armour, covered with a plastron and protective plates all over his body. She had seen holo-simulations of the entire armour but never such a complete version. In fact, she would never have hoped to see it one day. 

“The Egyptian army didn't have the resources to continue the project, so we offered to buy it back from them to complete it.” Rosado explained. “Of course, the Egyptian military staff only accepted under the condition that they were granted a temporary exclusivity for the acquisition of this armour. That's fair enough, and we intend to provide them with the best model there is.”

Fareeha had a lot of questions for her, but that could wait. The prototype, as she had imagined it, curved slightly to the right before the pilot restabilised it to get back to a stable posture. They finally came within range of the platform and Fareeha could finally hear the thrusters roar with power. From below, with her broad wings in her back and dark metal armour, it looked like a bird of prey ready to strike its quarry.

“Mrs Rosado, I didn't know you were there.”

Before a control table, a massive silhouette had turned towards the two women. The technicians and the engineers around noticed their presence. Fareeha looked away from the prototype when this thunderous and roaring voice called out to them.

“Pretend I'm not here, Hamed.” Rosado replied, amused as she joined him, closely followed by Fareeha.

“You are always asking me the impossible.” Hamed said with a broad smile.

Strong and imposingly built, the man must have been in his fifties or sixties. Wrinkles had marked his face and his tanned skin contrasted with his sparse hair and the thick white beard that framed a dazzling nose and deep grey eyes that suddenly noticed Fareeha's presence.

“Are you here to show the prototype to your guest?” he asked.

Fareeha felt Rosado's hand on her shoulder:

“Hamed, this is Lieutenant Fareeha Amari.”

When he heard her name, she noticed surprise in Hamed's grey eyes and then her lips curved into a new smile that revealed two widely spaced incisors.

“She's a distinguished guest on top of that.” Hamed replied. “Pleased to meet you, I'm Hamed Boutros, I'm in charge of the base's operations.”

“Nice to meet you.” Fareeha answered, shaking the large hand that was extended to her.

Hamed Boutros turned to his console and pressed one button.

“We'll take a thirty-minute break, and we'll resume the tests right afterwards. Khalil go back down and you'd better come and see.”

Engineers and technicians busied themselves around them as the prototype armour slowly began its descent, punctuated by the small jolts and humming of the thrusters. With a metallic noise, the armour's boots hit the ground and technicians came to the pilot's side to remove the measuring devices and part of the armour. Fareeha finally got a glimpse of the pilot who was flying the prototype. He walked out of the technicians' mass with a heavy step. His helmet, his shoulder pads and the chest protector had been removed.

Fareeha was astonished to see someone so old at the controls of the prototype: the man was not in his fifties, but he seemed to be close to it. This was what the grey temples of his brown hair and some wrinkles on his face seemed to indicate. Nevertheless, his age did not seem to weigh on his fine features and athletic body, which was essential for piloting the exoskeleton.

The latter went down the stairs leading to the take-off platform, paying attention to the wide wings on his back, and joined Fareeha and the others.

“Mrs. Rosado, to what do we owe this particular visit?” he asked.

“I'm just passing through.” the Helix agent replied. “I came simply to show the exoskeleton to Lieutenant Amari.”

“I suspected that. I figured that tattoo in your eye was not unfamiliar to me.” the pilot added. “Your mother had the exact same one.”

Fareeha moved her hand to touch her right eye but quickly revised her mind. Her tattoo was rarely brought to her attention. It had been a part of her for so long that it had become almost trivial and very few people related it to her mother.

“She wore it on her left eye.” she replied.

She was afraid she had answered dryly, but the pilot smiled and the thin moustache wavy over his lips.

“Yes, yes, that's it. The Udjat, the protecting eye.”

“Did you know her?” Fareeha inquired out of curiosity.

“I served in the Egyptian army with her. That goes back to the Omnic Crisis, therefore ages ago. Excuse me, I'm afraid I've forgotten my manners. Captain Khalil Khoury. But you may call me Khalil.

“Lieutenant Fareeha Amari. Pleased to meet you, Captain.” Fareeha politely replied, shaking the pilot's gloved hand.

The pilot did not seem offended and seemed rather amused. Although she dug into her memories, her mother had never told her anything about him.

“So, Lieutenant, you've come to see how we were working on the exoskeleton?” Khalil asked.

“Yes. It's impressive how much the model has been improved.” she said while examining the wings and pieces of armour of the prototype.

The suit looked as if it had been chiselled onto her pilot's body. The black alloy plates emphasised the athletic build of its pilot. The leggings followed the curves of the wearer from the feet to the top of the thighs, while the gauntlets nevertheless allowed the user to keep all his dexterity. Freed from the shoulder pads, Captain Khalil seemed much more at ease in the movement of his arms.

“You must be more used to flying in it than seeing it fly.” Hamed Boutros added.

Obviously, they must also have had access to the flight simulation videos. From the pilot's gait, she had realised that the armour, although strong, was too heavy and in this case, it greatly affected the good flying behaviour. However, Helix's technicians and engineers must have carried out hundreds, thousands of tests before coming up with these results. By the time she was involved in this project with the army, the most optimistic researchers and officials had told her that they were still a long way from achieving these advances.

“We must thank you, Lieutenant. Due to the Egyptian army's work, we were able to quickly calibrate and finalise the model's thrusters, but for the armour, we still have a lot of work to do,” Hamed explained. “Professor Fidah is heavily involved in the improvement of the prototypes, but he works slowly and meticulously.”

Despite her involvement in the project, she had never had the opportunity to meet Nasir Fidah, the creator and designer behind the armour. It was said that he was a secretive and discreet man, a genius who liked to stay in the shadows.

“Is he around here?” Fareeha asked. “I would love to meet him.”

“Unfortunately, he's very rarely on the base.” Hamed replied. “He likes to work on his side and he's a very perfectionist man who doesn't leave anything to chance.”

“Would you like to take a little ride with the armour, Lieutenant?” Khalil said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You'd better get ready, it's much heavier than it looks.”

Despite the joke, Fareeha was tempted to answer yes. She would have liked to put it on, walk, run with it and above all fly. The weight of the armour was not a concern, but she could feel the glance of Axelle Rosado in her back.

“It's not reasonable but it's not the desire that I miss.” she simply replied.

“Ms. Rosado told us that you might be interested in joining the ranks of the base security.” Hamed said. “We need new blood. Captain Khalil is no longer incredibly young and your expertise with the prototype would be appreciated, Lieutenant.”

The bait was crude but attractive. Fareeha could see that Axelle Rosado had easily led her to where she had desired. To what extent did she want to hire her as part of Helix's workforce? And for what reason? Was it because of her skills, her military experience or just the evocative power of her name?

Her mother's shadow always loomed over her. Watching each of her actions but making no judgment on them. Ana Amari was a renowned heroine in Egypt, and it was difficult to walk in her footsteps and live up to her legend. She felt that she was truly worthy of her mother's legacy, but sometimes she felt that it was weighing on her and that she should have blazed her own path.

“Nothing has been decided yet.” Axelle Rosado replied with a wave of her hand.

“I didn't want to influence her.” Hamed defended himself. “But it's always interesting to have new people around. I've been working here for years. I started at the bottom of the ladder when Overwatch was still managing the base, so I've seen a lot of people come and go.”

Fareeha ignored it, choosing instead to keep examining the combat armour. After pushing a black lock of hair back in front of her face, she slowly brushed her fingers against the model's wings and tried to weigh them down with her palm.

“Do the wings of the prototype still pull backwards as much?” she inquired.

“In the early models they did, but the wings have been modified to be lighter and less of a strain on the pilot's muscles.” Hamed explained.

“My lumbar vertebrae never recovered.” Khalil joked as he was offered water.

Fareeha nodded without adding anything. The wings of the prototypes she had tested weighed on her shoulders and back and she tried to imagine the weight of the whole thing by adding the armour. However, she noticed something when she touched the engines.

“The wings seem more fragile.”

“Unfortunately, this is the case now.” Hamed answered. “The armour should be able to hover and fly easily, but that depends on far too many external factors. At the first big gust, the pilot must struggle to maintain his trajectory. There is still a lot of work to be done. And that's without mentioning the armour.”

“How strong is your armour? Fareeha asked.

“The emphasis was on shock resistance to ensure the pilot's life.” Hamed continued, who seemed to appreciate her questions. The armour must be able to withstand frontal shocks as well as high altitude drops. We would like to avoid that the armour becomes a flying coffin.

“ _Insha'Allah_!” Khalil added.

“Otherwise, the armour can take enough bullets, but I wouldn't immediately try to test its strength against rockets.” Hamed said.

“Before the rockets, you already must overcome forced landings.” Fareeha smiled ironically. “I speak from experience.”

“We've also practiced quite a bit on our side.” Captain Khalil replied.

Hamed burst out laughing, soon followed by Khalil under Fareeha's amused look. She could have gone on asking all sorts of questions about the fighting armour and their progress for a long time, but they were interrupted by Professor Kiritoru who had just joined them.

“I went up to your office and I was told that I could find you here.” he told Axelle Rosado, who remained in retreat.

“I'm sorry, Professor.” the agent apologised. “I am afraid we have spent too much time here. Lieutenant, I think it's time to go back to my office and let the team get back to work.”

“You're right. Gentlemen, it was nice to meet you.” Fareeha said, reaching out to the two men. “and good luck.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant.” Hamed replied with a smile.

Captain Khalil preferred to let it slip out:

“Perhaps we'll see you soon on the take-off runway.”

Fareeha answered his remark with a courteous smile and then turned away, not without watching one last time as Khalil climbed back onto the take-off platform in the combat armour.

“What did you think of the Raptora project, Fareeha?” the professor asked as they walked through the hangar.

Raptora was an appropriate name for the project. After all, the sky belonged to raptors and no other predators. Helix knew how to label their research programmes.

“Very impressive. The original prototype has been considerably improved.”

“I hope you liked it.” Rosado said. “We plan to use it in the field as soon as possible.”

Fareeha thought back to what she said to herself before upon entering the Helix complex: Nothing is left to chance. She had to admit that Rosado knew how to seduce her visitors.

“Thank you so much for showing me this project.” she replied soberly. “I am happy to know that this project of armour is progressing well and in good hands.”

“If you were to join us, nothing would prevent you from being involved in this project again.”

“That's why you showed me the combat armour.” Fareeha added. “To influence my decision?”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to repeat myself, Lieutenant.” Axelle Rosado replied. “We want you in our forces and I have revealed all my cards to appeal to you. We feel you have your place here, both on the Raptora project and in the security team. Captain Khalil Khoury himself is leading a security team and is actively working on the project. The two are not incompatible. But it remains your decision and I will respect it. In any case...”

Rosado was interrupted by a call from her holographic bracelet.

“Forgive me, but I have to answer.” she said. “Professor, take the Lieutenant to my office. I'll join you once I've finished.”

As they headed for the lift, Fareeha seized this interlude to delve into her thoughts. She must really be thinking about the job she was being offered. There was no need for her to give her answer now after all. If Helix was so eager to hire her then surely, they would give her all the latitude she needed to decide. She had entered the base out of curiosity, but since she had seen it again, her mind was set on the prototype combat armour. Hesitation was starting to torment her.

The Egyptian army would be the first to benefit from the armour when it is finalised, but how long will it take? Perhaps in two or three years. No, the deadline would be far too short, at least five years. What was keeping her tied to the Egyptian army? Most of her friends, who had joined the army at the same time, had decided not to reapply, preferring to return to civilian life and turn to the private sector. The lift doors closed behind her and the professor who called out to her:

“Allow me to give my opinion, Fareeha, but I fully agree with Mrs Rosado. You are the right person for the job. No doubt in my mind.”

“May I ask you a question, Professor?” she asked.

“Please do so.”

“Do you like working here?”

Arata Kiritoru took a piece of tissue out of her jacket pocket and removed his glasses to wipe them gently.

“To answer you, this place reminds me a lot of the years I spent at Overwatch. At that time, I didn't work here, but since I was hired by Helix, I've had the same feeling as when I was stationed in Switzerland and Helsinki. Helix has taken over this base to further Overwatch's work and has brought together many scientists and engineers of all nationalities. It's a tremendously enriching experience for a scientist like me. It emulates reflection and pushes back the frontiers of our own knowledge. I am incredibly happy to work here. Helix gives me access to unlimited resources to pursue my research and I have a great deal of autonomy to conduct them. Above all, our task is difficult and leaves few rooms for mistakes.”

The professor's voice grew grave as he finished his sentence. Fareeha had never seen him like this. On his usually jovial features she could read melancholy and tiredness. He put his glasses back on his nose and an honest smile sprang up on his face.

“You know the situation outside these walls, Fareeha.” the professor resumed. “Giza and Cairo are plagued by violence, crime, and misery. Therefore, the presence of a company like Helix is necessary. They can guarantee the security of all, far beyond what the local authorities can do.”

“If Helix's means are unlimited, why don't they help them?” Fareeha asked.

“That would be counterproductive.” Kiritoru replied, shaking his head. “Bureaucrats and officials are bribed. Powerful gang leaders have a hold on the city. Anything that Helix could inject into the institutions would fall immediately into their pockets. Only the company's security officers could be relied on to look after the base and the city. There are so many things to be done and so many perils.”

“Of course, because of A...”

“Shhh!”

The professor's warning prompted her to remain silent as the lift doors opened in front of them.

“We'll be more comfortable talking in Mrs Rosado's office.” Kiritoru announced as he walked past the Helix employees waiting for the lift.

Fareeha followed Arata Kiritoru, crossing the corridors of the administration offices to reach Axelle Rosado's ‘surveillance post’. As she walked through the office door, Fareeha carefully closed it behind her to avoid being overheard by indiscreet ears.

“I'm sorry about earlier.” she stated. “I lacked prudence.”

“Dr. Liao always said: ‘The only acceptable excess is excess prudence’”. Kiritoru replied as he retrieved his cold cup of tea, “and when Mina Liao gave you a piece of advice about life, even the most experienced like me would listen. I remember that Professor Motylesçù had adopted this advice as his own. He used to repeat: ‘The only acceptable excess is excess alcohol’. This made our Helsinki colleagues laugh a lot, but he never repeated it in front of Mina, he had far too much respect for her.

Fareeha heard Kiritoru's little laughs dying in his throat. The professor looked at the bottom of his cup and drank a long shot of tea. She had heard the name of Professor Motylesçù somewhere before, but she could not ignore the name of Mina Liao. She was an outstanding researcher in artificial intelligence and robotics, known and renowned all over the world for having taken part in the creation of omnics and for being one of the founding members of Overwatch. Above all, she was a brilliant mind behind many advances in science and technology and unfortunately, she lost her life in a bomb attack. Fareeha remembered meeting her a few times when she was a child: the image of a smiling woman in laboratory clothes came to her mind.

“I envy your youth, Fareeha.” Kiritoru declared nostalgically as he sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Young people like you are always looking forward to the future, with their heads full of hopes and ambitions. Old men like me look over their shoulders, dwell on their past, seeing ghosts and regrets.”

The melancholy in the professor's voice made Fareeha reach out to him. She sat down on the adjacent chair and put her hand on Arata Kiritoru's arm.

“Professor, it is unnecessary to feel this kind of self-pity. You have achieved great things and you will continue to achieve more. Besides, you are not as old as you think you are.”

The professor's mouth twisted into an amused grimace and he began to slowly giggle.

“Forgive me, Fareeha. Seeing you again reminds me of old memories and above all some very good days. You look so much like your mother, especially with your eye tattoo. Since when you got it?”

“I got the tattoo shortly after her death.” she explained. “It was a way to remember her, to pay tribute to her. The Udjat is a protective symbol. As a teenager, I think it was a way for me to convince myself that even though my mother was no longer there, she still looked after me.

“I am sure she would be very proud of the woman you have become.” Kiritoru confessed.

“I am always trying to honour her memory and live up to her achievements.” she replied with a smile. My mother hoped I wouldn't follow in her footsteps, but I did just the opposite.”

“Ana used to talk a lot about you. I seem to remember that she once told us that she needed to bring you more often to the research laboratories so that you could meet - and these are her words - "men of spirit". Your mother complained that you only had eyes for Lieutenant Reinhardt and Commanders Reyes and Morrison.”

“I still have a poster of Reinhardt somewhere at home.” Fareeha joked. “I've dreamed of joining Overwatch ever since I was a little girl.”

Evoking these names seemed to revive the bitterness of the professor, but he was not the only one to remember this time with kindness. Whether it was Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Jesse, Gabriel or Jack, she had made them her childhood models: tireless and invincible heroes who did not give up in adversity. And at the top of this pantheon of heroes was her mother: the proud and fearsome captain of the Egyptian army who, through her military exploits, had been granted a place in the powerful international force: Overwatch.

It is normal for a child to admire heroes and idolise his parents. But these sweet illusions always ended when they grew up and Fareeha experienced this sadly. One day, on her way home from school, she was told that her mother had disappeared during a mission in Poland and was supposedly dead. She had hoped with all her strength that Overwatch would find her or that she would one day reappear in good health, as if nothing had happened. But none of that had ever happened. An empty coffin had been buried with Ana Amari's name on it and Fareeha said her farewell to her mother and her childhood heroine. Even the heroes were not immortal: Jack and Gabriel perished in the explosion at Overwatch headquarters long after Reinhardt had been forced to leave the organization. Torbjörn and Angela had returned to civilian life while Jesse McCree had vanished into thin air.

His father did what was necessary to try to make her forget Overwatch and to soften his mother's loss, limiting all his contact with former members of the organisation. He kept repeating that she had to move forward, leave the past behind. Yet the past had developed the unfortunate habit of catching up with her.

“Overwatch no longer exists, but the world keeps turning and we have to finish what the organisation started.”

At the end of his sentence, professor Kiritoru crossed the room to take his cup back to the piece of furniture where he had found it.

“Do you know what I saw when Helix came to ask me to join their teams?” Kiritoru asked. “An opportunity. When Dr. Liao joined Overwatch, she always said that it was a way for her to repair the mistakes she had made in creating the omnics. Well, Helix offered me an opportunity to right the wrongs I may have indirectly caused. This god A.I. here is a nationwide threat. The most pessimistic are talking about a global threat that could trigger a new omnic crisis. But imagine Fareeha, if we manage to neutralise it completely, or even better, bring it back in our favour. Reprogramming Anubis would allow us to use this artificial intelligence to fulfil its original function: to organise, manage and facilitate the life of the whole mankind. Because of Anubis, no artificial intelligence can coexist for a hundred kilometres around.”

“Yet you use omnics on the base.” Fareeha objected, thinking back to the unexpected appearance of Okoro earlier.

“I programmed Okoro and the other artificial intelligences myself. They were created to react to any intrusion into their programs. Anubis couldn't use them. I made sure this wouldn't happen. The power of Anubis would allow Egypt to regain new momentum. This artificial intelligence could control irrigation and crop rotation, manage transport and communication infrastructures, and thus allow the return of other AIs that would improve the daily lives of the inhabitants. Cairo could emerge from this dark period in which it found itself stuck and imagine a new and brighter future. This is what I believe in and why I am working hard to achieve it.”

“It's still dangerous.” Fareeha said.

“Oh yes! Terribly dangerous!” the professor replied. “We are working slowly, very slowly and with extreme caution. If Anubis were to come out of his sleep while we are trying to change his programme, the consequences would be catastrophic. To try to explain the scale of the task is like trying to block the water from a dam through a hole the size of your index finger. You have to carefully remove your finger from the hole, but the slightest movement and you risk letting a flood escape and breaking the dam at the same time.”

The comparison seemed to please the professor, but Fareeha saw it as an analogy that only researchers in artificial intelligence could understand.

“Helix is not Overwatch, but their objectives are similar. The world keeps on turning and I am sure that new threats will arise one day or another. Helix tries to prevent those risks to maintain peace and security. Everyone here must do their part and we need people like you.”

In the professor's speech, Fareeha believed she recognised the words of Axelle Rosado. The position offered to her was made for her and corresponded perfectly to her training and expectations. Moreover, her doubts had vanished as soon as she saw again the combat exoskeleton of this project that she had taken so much to heart.

Axelle Rosado had made every effort to present this position from the best possible angles and this insistence had nevertheless contributed to cloud her judgement. Fareeha thought about the opportunity she was being offered on a set and thought it might be unwise not to take it.

“Excuse me.” Rosado announced as she entered her office. “The call lasted longer than expected.”

“Is there bad news on the horizon?” Kiritoru wondered.

“No bad news, only minor complications.” she replied, returning to her chair.

Axelle Rosado's hazel eyes fell on Fareeha, taking her out of her thoughts.

“Lieutenant Amari, I'm afraid we'll have to cut our visit short today. I have some unexpected matters to deal with. I hope you will understand.”

“I fully understand.”

“If you wish, let's resume the tour tomorrow so that you can see the different parts of the complex before your return flight. I will send someone to take you to your quarters and don't worry, we will take care of your food.”

“I can take her on a tour of the dormitories and common areas.” Kiritoru said. I have a bit more time ahead of me.

“Do, Professor.” Rosado finished. “Make yourself comfortable, Lieutenant, and use the evening to think about our proposal. The night brings advice.”

“It won't be necessary," Fareeha said immediately. “I accept your offer.”

Axelle Rosado seemed to stiffen on her chair at the understanding of her answer and Fareeha thought she could see a broad smile on Professor Kiritoru's face.

“Perfect.” Axelle Rosado answered. “I am very happy to hear this!”

“You won't regret it, Fareeha.” the professor said, tapping her shoulder.

Fareeha felt lighter now that she had made her decision. Impatience quickly replaced hesitation and she fully considered this new experience with Helix. She found that even Rosado seemed relieved and terribly satisfied with her choice. She saw the Helix inspector take a bottle of champagne out of a drawer.

“I keep this bottle for special occasions, and I think this is one of them.” she announced with a big smile.

The inspector took three champagne glasses from a piece of furniture and opened the bottle before serving them its contents.

“I thought you had some unexpected things to take care of.” Fareeha pointed out as she retrieved a cup of champagne.

“They can wait.” Rosado replied. “Just like the administrative formalities regarding your future contract. We'll have plenty of time to deal with them later. For now, welcome aboard. To our future and long collaboration!”

The three toasted and Fareeha had to concede once again that at Helix _nothing was left to chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Ok. OK. This new chapter clearly comes late compared to the pace of publication of previous chapters. I told you not to get used to it and I repeat it again today. The chapters are coming at their own pace and the person in charge for this long break is none other than me as well as related activities such as World of Warcraft or the lockdown at the end of October related to the COVID-19 epidemic in France which does not put you in the best conditions to write.
> 
> In short, after that passage about my life which is not interesting for you, I give you chapter 7 of Overwatch - Crossroads centred on the character of Fareeha Amari. A rather special chapter that begins the arc of "Pharah" and that I wrote while starting another chapter related to a character close to Fareeha. I don't think I need to describe it to you. You know who I am talking about. I don't do this kind of thing as a habit, but I really wanted to treat the two characters a little bit at the same time but with hindsight, I'm very impatient to get to the second character's one but before that I had to go through Fareeha, which I did.
> 
> Fareeha's character is rather disconcerting. Apart from the in-game dialogues and the comic devoted to her, truly little is known about her. A little something more in lore would be missing to better understand her and I had to follow my own vision of the character. Although some people say that Pharah has a "Captain America" side to her, I think she has personal aspirations that go far beyond justice, her mother and Overwatch.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway. For the next chapter, my heart is balancing between approaching a new character and going back to another already introduced one. The second option seems more likely to me though. I'd rather not say when it will be released, as I haven't started yet.
> 
> Thanks to Etsukazu for his proofreading and follow-up of the chapter! For those who follow me, you know that he is an incredibly good friend of mine, who writes a fanfiction on the universe of A Song of Ice and Fire "Game of Thrones" called "A PRINCE OF DRAGONSTONE", which I invite you heartily to read. I also take this opportunity to thank Sarhtorian for his help with the proofreading as well as those who put kudos on! It's always a pleasure.
> 
> See you soon and take care!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> What you have read is a translation of my fanfiction "Overwatch - Crossroads" originally written in French. The French Overwatch fandom is not the most active one and following a tip from my author friend Etsukazu, I decided to translate this fanfiction hoping that it could please another audience. It's a first for me and I tried to be conscientious in the exercise and I really hope it shows through the text and that your reading was pleasant. 
> 
> It's a project that has been in my head for a long time: an Overwatch fanfiction. I'm a huge fan of the game and the universe that Blizzard has developed and is still developing. All of the characters, their backgrounds, their environments, their relationships, it's all quick to imagine, and I was just gnawing at the urge to write this fanfiction.
> 
> I finally got into this project because I saw my friend Etsukazu, him again, leaving on another fandom (A Song of Ice and Fire - go read "The Prince of Dragonstone" it's very promising and well-written). Moreover, I thank him for his follow up of this first chapter and his careful revision.
> 
> Now it's time for me to explain to you how I intend to approach this fanfiction and possibly answer any questions you may have:
> 
> \- First, I intend to remain true to the canon as much as possible. I don't intend to contradict what has appeared in cinematics, comics and the Overwatch's novels. Rather, I want to use in my story what they've asked for as information for the characters or for the universe. These different media are available online for free on Blizzard's website and allow you to discover new information about the universe and characters (both comics and novels are part of the game's canon).
> 
> Nevertheless, the game is constantly evolving with new cinematics, new heroes, and the many news items that may come along in the coming weeks, months, and years. I trust you to be tolerant and not to hold me in contempt if any new information contradicts what I have established in this story. The story I have imagined is likely to change slightly according to these new information/characters. As I write this, the new Sigma character will soon join the game's hero rooster and his place in Talon is full of promise for the universe. (As I’m translating this chapter, the last hero who join the roster is Echo). I'll try my best to stick to the canon and be a part of its continuity and I hope you'll forgive me for any deviations that may happen in the future.
> 
> In this regard, I also wanted to point out that information about the universe and characters in Overwatch is not always clear due to many vague points in the background. For my research, I had to browse many English and French wiki sites to find a consensus according to certain information about this or that character or the universe. Once again, I rely on your tolerance.
> 
> \- Next, I want each chapter of this story to be about a single character, a point-of-view per chapter. I really like this way of telling, I have read a lot of the A Song of Ice and Fire saga that uses this approach and I want to use it for this story. Overwatch, like ASOIAF, has a wide range of characters with complex relationships and I think it's really well suited to the story. I would perhaps break that rule, but for now, I'll stick to it.
> 
> Thank you for reading this first chapter, I hope you enjoyed it and that my English is readable. Do not hesitate to tell me if you find any errors or misunderstandings in the chapter. English is not my native language and as a French speaker it is very difficult to have a perspective on the whole text. I preferred to take the plunge without a lifeline. ^^
> 
> I will try to post translations of the chapters shortly after the French versions. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, it would be a pleasure for me to hear your feedback.
> 
> Thanks again! 
> 
> Lexias


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